The Beached Ones E-Book

Colleen M. Story

• Herausgeber: CamCat Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 510

Beschreibung

The Beached Ones

Leseprobe

The Beached Ones

Colleen M. Story

Contents

Also by Colleen M. Story

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Afterword

Acknowledgments

For Further Discussion

About the Author

Author Q&A

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CamCat Books

Content Warning: This novel touches upon suicide and may be disturbing to some readers.

CamCat Publishing, LLC

Brentwood, Tennessee 37027

camcatpublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

© 2022 by Colleen M. Story

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744305340

Paperback ISBN 9780744305388

Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744305470

eBook ISBN 9780744305456

Audiobook ISBN 9780744305555

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available upon request

Cover and book design by Maryann Appel

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For my brothers, and for Mom.

“There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.”

—George Eliot, from Adam Bede

Chapter One

Daniel A. Shepard would have been lost forever had not the lighthouse beam brought him back to life. In sweeping strokes it painted the blackness in ribbons of white, awakening his spirit with each pass over his body, gently drawing him out of the blackness into which he had fallen. He dropped his arm over his face, suspecting a crack in the hotel drapes, but the light shone through nevertheless, as if the sleeve of his fleece jacket were no more than a thin cotton sheet. He rolled over on his side. A sharp pain sliced through his thighs, forcing him fully awake. His legs were on fire. He slapped at the flames, but when he looked down, he was fully clothed, his limbs unharmed.

The ceiling twinkled, some sort of spray glitter he’d failed to notice before. But no, the sparkles were too far away. And the air smelled fresh, not the typical hotel air, heavy with the scent of old socks. He’d expected the usual lumpy beds and noisy cooling fans. It wasn’t long before he realized this was no hotel.

He was outside.

His gaze went first to the flashing light, emanating from an airport tower, he thought, until he heard the roar of the ocean below. Having grown up in Montana, he’d never been to either coast, but now long waves gleamed like threads of lace, appearing and then fading into the deep. He stared, half unsure of what he was seeing, and still they danced in and out under a moonlit sky, the lighthouse showing them off about every twenty seconds. A breeze caressed his face, bringing with it the scent of salt and seaweed, and then he noticed the sand cool between his fingers. He lifted one hand and let the soft grains trickle over his palm. The guys had spoken about heading for the beach after the Los Angeles show, but last he remembered, they hadn’t made it out of the bar.

The pain returned, biting at his ankles, flames erupting about the hem of his jeans. He recoiled, crab legging through the sand, one hand slapping at the fire until he fell onto his back. The vision faded to reveal his jeans intact, white cotton socks covering his ankles, the fleece jacket unzipped, his favorite high-tops on his feet.

“I didn’t drink that much,” he said out loud, though his tone was less than convincing. He removed his Kawasaki cap and ran his fingers through his thick, brown hair, resting his hand on the back of his neck. Jay had asked him to join the others. They’d left the crowd on their feet, an audience of over a thousand shouting for more. They’d deserved a celebration.

“Jay?” Daniel called, “you there?”

The last show was a blur. All he could remember was his hometown of Butte, Montana, the old grandstand at the fairgrounds lit up with stadium lights as he and the six other motorcycle riders flew over the tops of hundreds of heads. But that couldn’t be right. They were in L.A. Their last show had to have been in L.A. Behind him, city lights danced in the distance, casting a hazy orange glow into the night sky. His last run up the ramp, he’d done the dead body and the cliffhanger. Or had it been the double grab and the superman?

The night answered only in waves, the sand whispering hush.

He had to pick up Tony in San Francisco. The thought came out of the blue. His little brother was attending the marine camp he’d drooled over for years. He’d be finished on August twenty-ninth. If Daniel weren’t there, the kid would be left stranded. He glanced at his wrist, but his watch was gone. They were supposed to spend a couple of weeks together before Tony went back to school, though Daniel wasn’t sure he was going to let his little brother return to their mother’s house. Tony had been in that hellhole long enough. Daniel had an apartment now. They could both stay there.

He patted his pockets. No keys, no wallet. But something in the front right. He dug in and pulled out the Matchbox F-14 Tomcat. He’d received it as a present when he was young, for Christmas maybe, though he couldn’t remember for sure. He’d passed it on to Tony on his fifth birthday, and then Tony had given it back before Daniel had left the hellhole for good. Tony had meant it as a good-luck charm, something to keep Daniel safe while he was performing his stunts. Daniel turned it over in his hand, puzzled.

A piercing whistle grabbed his attention. He tucked the toy away and stood up. Over the din of the ocean the whistle came again, a high-pitched tone that spiked and then dropped. He held his breath. There, at the shoreline, down and to the right. The waves crested and crashed, and then a distressed, wailing sound of something or someone in pain.

It wasn’t easy running in the sand, especially in high-top sneakers. Salty grains poked at his heels. As if wanting to help, the lighthouse intermittently showed the way. Here. No, over here.

At the crest of the hill, he looked down on a long stretch of beach, the sand smoothed by the tide. To the right, where the moon’s glow frosted the shore, loaf-shaped mounds lay marooned among the ocean’s refuse, grounded vessels cast aside as if by a storm.

Daniel approached with caution. The shadows loomed larger with every step; great sea monsters with invisible faces. Ten feet away, he hesitated. Multiple torpedo-shaped bodies, twelve to sixteen feet long, all with aft-facing dorsal fins, lay stranded on the sand. Pilot whales. Tony had taped pictures of them on the walls of his room during his sea-creature phase, which had followed his dinosaur obsession. He’d liked the pilot whales best because they looked so much like dolphins, bulbous heads blunted in front, mouths angled up in permanent smiles. Daniel trudged past five, ten, twelve of them. Some exhaled out their blowholes, spraying weak fountains over their heads. One lifted its tail and then let it fall back with a thud. After fifteen, he stopped.

A new sound drew his ear, something shuffling nearby. He stumbled forward in the darkness and found a baby whale struggling to be near its mother. It was about a third her size, maybe five feet long, the smiling mouth deceptively cheerful. Half crouched, Daniel approached. At its side, he paused, extended his hand, and tentatively touched the skin. Slick and rubbery, it was like raw egg over a soccer ball. Tony would be devastated to see his favorite animals dying. The mother Daniel could do nothing for, but looking again at the baby, he shed his fleece jacket and squatted down. The young ones were only about 150 pounds. Tucking one hand underneath the tail, he raised his chin and slid the other under what he thought was the neck, wriggling his fingers through the sand to get a grip. Once he’d secured a good hold, he took a breath and heaved. The whale felt heavier than he’d expected. He pushed hard, forcing his heels into the sand, his thighs straining. Slowly, he rose, wobbled a bit, and finally stood upright. The weight settled hard and heavy against his chest. The whale squirmed and Daniel thought he might lose him, but then the animal went still. Daniel walked unsteadily toward the water, the whale’s skin slick against his own. He went about ten feet until his shoes sank into the wet sand, and then a little farther until the ocean came up to his waist. With the current buffeting his body, he let go.

The baby swam out, turned, and went back to the shore. Flopping like a hooked fish, it called for its mother. The big whale whistled in answer. Daniel trudged back onto the beach, his chest heaving. Water sloshed in his shoes, his jeans heavy, the breeze cold on his arms. He scooped up the whale, balanced himself, and again carried it to the water. He walked farther out the second time, but still, the baby returned.

The dim glow of dawn cast a grey light on the mass suicide before him. He spotted movement in some of the shapes, but only occasionally did a blast of mist escape a blowhole or a low groan overwhelm the ocean’s roar. The baby called to its mother in pitiful squeaks and whistles, but she no longer answered back. Daniel knew he should get help, but for most of them, it would be too late.

Orion stood tall in the eastern sky, the Big Dipper angling northwest, both dispassionately observing the scene playing out below. A gust of wind cooled Daniel’s skin. He shivered under his wet clothes, retrieved his fleece jacket, and pulled it back on. Arms crossed, he walked up the hill. He would find help or the rest of the guys or something. They couldn’t be that far off. The whales were nearly out of sight when the baby cried out again, a wild sound like a child’s scream of terror. Daniel’s flesh lifted off his bones.

He ran all the way back. In the water a third time, he waded forward until he could no longer feel the sand under his feet, and then did his best to swim even farther, clinging tightly to the rubbery skin. Kicking hard he managed a few more feet before the whale slipped away and disappeared into the ocean. Spent, Daniel waited, treading water, the wet jacket heavy on his shoulders as he scanned the shoreline. Moments passed, but he didn’t detect any new shapes moving. The waves tossed him up and down, playing with him. He blinked saltwater out of his eyes. Come on. Come on.

There! Like a geyser, the spout burst from the water. It sparkled momentarily and then dropped and disappeared into the vastness of the ocean. Three times the whale’s back arced into the night, the moon shaping its blow into a cream-colored cone until at last, everything was quiet and Daniel swam alone.

He leaned back and let the water take him where it would. He would rest for a moment and then swim back, find a phone, call Jay, and regroup. He’d have a hell of a story to tell Tony when he picked him up. A smile creased his lips, and then the pain returned and he doubled over with it, his gaze seeking but not finding the flames. With desperate motions, he swam back to the shore. Hands and knees in the sand, he panted hard until the burning cooled and he could lie down, the great sea monsters surrounding him in a silent embrace.

Chapter Two

His recovery on the shore was short-lived. Just as he started to get up on his hands and knees, the sand collapsed underneath him, tilting him over onto his side. Feeling his hip and shoulder start to sink, he rolled onto his back to see stars dragging streaks of light behind them, the night sky spinning like a Ferris wheel. He was dizzy from fatigue, he thought, but the sensation intensified, the beach wide and then narrow, the night twisting as if wringing itself out. He remembered suffering a fever as a child, when everything appeared distorted and smaller than it should have been, rooms shrinking in size even while he seemed to grow, except this time it was the coastline and the lighthouse and the city lights expanding and elongating until they were nothing but colored ribbons. Around and around it all went, the vertigo so overpowering he closed his eyes. Gradually, the sensation eased and the world stopped moving, leaving him feeling as if he’d come to the end of an amusement park ride.

His childhood home materialized around him, a ragged trailer house on the outskirts of Butte. He sat crouched low by the living room window. Raindrops spattered the glass, the sky covered in dense gray clouds. Outside, donning a homemade headdress fashioned from a leather belt and taped-on crow feathers, Tony stood in the steady downpour, having taken up a post in the middle of the muddy front yard, if you could call the square of dirt between their trailer and the gravel road beyond a yard. Daniel peered through the part of the window that wasn’t covered with brown spray paint. His little brother raised skinny white arms to the sky and started to run in circles. His feet pummeled the ground, shooting out muddy splashes of slop that fell back to stain his jeans. After five times around, he changed to a football shuffle, side to side with his arms pumping in front of him. Rain bombed his feathers and soaked through his black hair. Ten minutes later, he stood like a soldier, sent God a drenched salute, and ran back inside. Dropping the headdress on the TV tray by the door, he stepped out of his mud-covered sneakers and ran across the room to join Daniel. “Did it work? Did the rain stop?”

The memory faded, giving way to the sensation of hard stone poking into his cheek. He was outdoors again, one side of his body warmed by the sun, the other pressed against a mound of dirt that quivered underneath him. A train whistle moaned. Wheels clacked in a steady rhythm, coming, coming, and then a ding-ringing of bells. Under his fingers, a steel track vibrated. The whistle sounded again, louder this time, bombarding his ears and forcing his eyelids back. The steel monster was no more than fifty feet away. Scrambling to his hands and knees, he glanced with horror at the tracks where his fingers had lain. A gust of wind blasted his face as the engine barreled by, the whistle dropping in pitch with a mournful farewell. Daniel grabbed his cap and stumbled backward, down the incline and away from the tracks. In his rush he lost his balance and fell, rolling twice before coming to rest on level ground.

It was midday, the sun shining brightly above him, green fields covering the area on the other side of the tracks. He got to his feet, dusted off his jeans, placed his cap on his head and looked around. In front of him rested a tank trailer of some sort, several others parked nearby awaiting transport. Magpies croaked their disapproval from a clump of cottonwood trees on the other side of the lot. All around him stretched a country landscape rich with farm fields, a red barn and silver grain silo visible in the distance. He kept turning, surveilling it all, at one point rubbing the back of his head and then dropping his hand to his waist. How had he gone from the ocean to the plains? He checked his jeans, shirt, and jacket. All dry. Completely dry. Even his hair was dry.

On his fourth turn around he paused to study what looked like an eatery across the road, a single-story building painted barn red with white trim, a matching sign hanging from a tall iron post: The Old Biddy. Daniel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know this place. He wished he’d reconsidered Jay’s advice about buying a cell phone. “It’s 2014 Danny,” his friend had teased numerous times. “You’re acting like an old man.” Still, considering that his wallet and keys were gone, a phone probably would have been stolen too. The café was his best shot at getting in touch with somebody.

He headed toward the place, gravel crunching under his shoes. An antique farm plow sat on the grass in front; two cars, a rusted truck, and a Suzuki motorcycle parked at the curb. On the other street corner rested a mechanic’s shop and, down the way, three single-level houses worn and aged from too many winters without fresh paint.

He was about to open the door when a young couple emerged, both with tattooed arms and pierced noses. They passed him by without comment, an overhead bell announcing their exit. Daniel slipped in behind them, barely clearing the entrance before stiff springs slammed the door closed. An elderly couple sat in a booth by the wall, newspapers partitions between them. At a center table, a man with a buzz cut sliced into his steak, thick biceps framing his ribs. Sizzling sounds emanated from the back, the smell of beef in the air. Daniel looked to his right and jumped, startled. An oversized rooster stood just inside the door, its sharp yellow beak poised over his head.

The waitress, a portly woman with three hens on her apron, walked out in rubber-soled shoes, the kind hospital nurses wore to ease the wear and tear on their feet. Years of skin drooped from her arms, her wide face framed with curly black hair. Daniel waited, but she breezed by him, depositing the smell of cheap hairspray in her wake. She opened the door, looked left and right, then mumbled something inaudible and retraced her steps.

“Ma’am?” he called, but she didn’t respond. “Ma’am, do you have a phone?”

The woman disappeared into the back. Daniel scanned the place. They had to have an office or break room or something. As he started after her, he sensed he was being watched.

The young woman stood at the side of her booth, intense green eyes focused on him. Thick auburn hair fell in choppy layers about her head, the bangs jagged over graceful eyebrows. Her fair skin was flushed at the cheeks and neck, her body thin and half hidden underneath the brown leather jacket she wore. “Daniel?”

There was something familiar about the eyes, something that made him hold his breath. She was too far away, but he could smell the musky perfume she wore, the spicy zing of it. He knew her silver earrings were shaped like an artist’s palette, the circles of paint small indentations in the metal. He felt a moment’s pleasure that she was wearing them but couldn’t remember why. He took a step toward her.

Her grip tightened on the booth. “Daniel? Is that you?”

He could feel her hair in his hands, the kind of hair you could grab hold of without worrying about breaking it. Her lips tasted like the caramel candies she carried in her pocket. “Jolene.”

She blinked rapidly, looked around the café, and then stared at him again. “But you . . . you’re . . .”

“Jolene!” They’d walked together through a park where the ducks fanned their feathers in the sun. They’d gazed at paintings on a museum wall while arguing about their worth. She’d waited for him at the edge of the fairgrounds near the exit gate. “Where are we?”

“You don’t know where you are?”

“We had a show last night, but . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t remember.” He could feel her small ear pressed against his chest. They had been standing outside a hotel on a late night. He’d asked if she had friends waiting, but she’d only stared at him with those startling green eyes, and then she’d stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

“Daniel?”

“We were touring in L.A., I thought, but since last night . . .” He looked around. The place was covered in chickens, black and white pictures of hen houses on the walls, shelves laden with knick-knacks and ceramic figurines, chicks in bunches peering over the tops of woven baskets. Daniel’s vision blurred. Swaying, he sought to steady himself. “I need a phone.”

“Here, no . . .” Jolene flew to his side, and then hesitated a moment before touching him. When she did, a look of surprise crossed her face, but he was so unsteady she recovered quickly and with one arm around his waist, walked him to the booth and set him on the bench seat opposite hers. A glass of ice water sat untouched on the table. He drained half of it, the cool liquid dousing the fire that wasn’t really there but still made him sweat. Uncomfortable under her intense gaze, he tried to look nonchalant.

“What do you have to do to get service in here? Crow?”

The waitress wouldn’t acknowledge his existence, not even after he asked her twice for a cheeseburger with fries and a Dr. Pepper. He might have given her a piece of his mind if Jolene hadn’t intervened, slipping in the burger with her request for a strawberry waffle. The waitress scratched the order down and then patted the young woman on her skinny arm as if she pitied her, saying she was glad to see her appetite had improved.

Country music played over speakers in the ceiling corners, the tables covered in red-and-white checkered tablecloths. “I’ve never been here before,” Daniel said half to himself before he realized Jolene had heard him. “I don’t even know how I got here.” He glanced at her face. She was looking at him as if he was the last thing she had ever expected to see. In one hand she clenched a pendant that hung around her neck, a rich purple stone cut in a diamond shape. “Did we plan to meet here?” he asked.

“A long time ago.”

“Not today?”

She reached out and touched his hand. His impulse was to touch her back, but she was studying the limb as if in science class, pressing down on the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger and then against his wrist to check his pulse. He opened his hand to take hers but she withdrew and tucked both arms under the table. When he looked at her face she turned away as if embarrassed and rubbed her arms against a chill. The earrings were the ones he’d remembered, the artist’s palette. He’d given them to her. Over a pizza dinner.

“Iowa?” he said.

“Harlan.” She glanced at him. “About an hour and a half from Des Moines. You remember Des Moines, don’t you?”

Des Moines. Yes. That’s where they had met. The memories returned like tentative kittens. The team did a show there. She’d come backstage afterwards to have merchandise signed. He’d asked her to stay another day. Then another and another until a week had gone by and the team had to leave for their next tour date.

The waitress brought the second glass of water Jolene had requested, then looked at Daniel’s and paused. “Did I get that right?” she asked. “You wanted another one?”

“I’d like some more,” Daniel said, pushing his empty glass over.

“It’s fine,” Jolene said with a forced smile.

“But I’d like—” Daniel started but the waitress was already walking away. Jolene pushed the new glass to his side of the table. “Don’t you want it?” he asked.

“I got it for you.”

He took it gratefully and drained half of it. When he set it down she was staring at him again. “What?” he asked.

“What do you remember?”

The ocean. It would make him sound nuttier than he already did. He took another sip and shifted his weight. “The last show we did,” he said. “I think something happened. An accident or something.”

“An accident.”

“There was a fire. I can’t remember . . .” He looked around the café again. How had he ever traveled from L.A. to Iowa with no memory of the time between? “You sure we didn’t plan to meet here today?”

She sat stiffly in her seat twisting the edges of her napkin. “You don’t know how you got here?”

More water. He felt so hot. Already his second glass was almost empty. “I woke up over there. By the tracks.”

“Woke up?”

The waitress brought their meal and set it down in front of Jolene. When she’d gone Jolene pushed the cheeseburger over. It seemed rude to eat now with so many questions between them, but the aroma was too tempting. He took a bite. The meat was juicy and flavorful, the best he could remember tasting in a long while. It was only when he was nearly done that he paused to see Jolene still watching him, her lips shiny with syrup, most of her waffle intact on her plate.

“I need to pick up my little brother,” he blurted.

She stopped chewing.

“August twenty-ninth,” he continued. “He’s at summer camp. What’s today?”

She swallowed hard and set the fork down on the plate.

“If this is Iowa, I need to get going. I’ve got to get to San Francisco—”

She covered her mouth, a shadow passing over her features.

“What?” Daniel said.

“Is that what this is about?”

He stared at her.

“It’s been over a year and now you want to say something? Is that what this is? You want to say something now?” She dropped her hand to the table. “You’re supposed to be . . . I mean, they said you were . . .” Her mouth hovered open, her breath escaping in uneven gasps. “You know, don’t you? You know. That’s why you’re here.”

“Know what?” He opened his hands in surrender. “What?”

The front door opened and slammed closed. Tendons stood out in Jolene’s neck. Her gaze jumped back and forth between his face and the new customers at the entrance. When the waitress thundered by, Jolene slid out of the booth.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She headed toward the back of the café. He took a few steps after her, but she hurried, soon disappearing under the wooden sign that read “restrooms.” Daniel hovered in the breezeway. Over a year. It had been that long since what? Since they’d seen each other? It didn’t seem that long, but then everything was turned upside down.

The restroom doors read “roosters” and “hens.” On his right spread the kitchen, the cook busy at the grill. A few more steps and he came to a narrow opening and another door with a sign that read “office.” He slipped inside. The room was about fifteen square feet, a worn leather couch resting against one wall, an L-shaped computer desk against the other. He spotted a cordless telephone behind the monitor. Finally. He dialed Jay’s number. Pressing the cool handset to his ear, he waited. After three rings, Jay’s voice came on with the same message he’d recorded when they’d first made it onto the motocross team. Hey, I’m either ridin’ or thinking about ridin’, so leave it at the beep.

“Jay, what the hell? Did I hit my head or something? I’m in fucking Iowa. You need to let me know what’s going on. I’ll try again. Do me a favor and pick up.”

He pressed end and replaced the headset. Chewing on a knuckle, he paced back and forth and then eyed the computer. It was on, the screensaver showing chickens pecking at the ground. He sat down and opened a browser. It responded, the machine already connected to the Internet. On the Diamond Xtreme motocross website he found the main number and dialed. Erin’s voice came on and he almost spoke before realizing it was the out-of-office recording. The group’s manager rattled on about office hours. Daniel replaced the handset and checked the upper right corner of the screen. August twenty-fourth. He pulled up the calendar. A Sunday. The motocross office was closed. He glanced ahead to the twenty-ninth.Five days to get to San Francisco.

Checking the website again, he went to the performance schedule. There it was. Their last show. He blinked. That couldn’t be right. It said August second, Butte Silverbow County Fair. Three weeks ago?He remembered a show just the night before. Besides, he hadn’t been in his hometown that recently. He squinted, heat rising up the back of his neck. Underneath the event listing sat an isolated paragraph:

As a result of the tragic accident at our last event culminating in the loss of team member Daniel A. Shepard, we have canceled our next show in Salt Lake City, Utah, out of respect for our riders and the fans. It has been an emotional time for everyone, and our hearts go out to Daniel’s family and friends. If you’d like to express your condolences, we’ve set up a fan page for Daniel, which you can find by clicking here. We plan to resume the tour in Denver, Colorado, on September 6th.

Chapter Three

Daniel didn’t know how long he’d been sitting in front of the computer when the office door opened. Jolene entered. She looked as if she’d been crying. It must have been the expression on his face because she hurried to his side and checked the screen. A moment passed, her hair tickling his ear.

“Come on.” She pressed a key. The screen went black. “We need to go.”

“But I—”

“We need to go now.” She took hold of his arm.

“Did you see—”

“If she catches us in here there’ll be hell to pay. Come on!”

She led him out the back door. Iowa’s sprawling farms and vast sky remained unchanged, the sun beaming warmth on his skin. Butte Silverbow County Fair. That couldn’t have been their last show. He’d have remembered that, a show in his hometown. Had his mother come? He knew the answer before he thought of the question. But she could have come.

Jolene walked ahead of him, a sketchpad tucked under her arm. “Come on!” He obeyed, taking a couple more steps. If he’d been in Butte that recently, Tony must have told him then about the marine camp, unless he’d already left. Or had he come to the show?

“Daniel!”

Jolene waited for him at the front of the building. He trotted to catch up, scanning the trailer lot across the street, looking for his bike or a car or some other mode of transportation that would answer the question of how the hell he’d gotten here, especially if he’d been in Montana three weeks ago. Around the corner, he spotted the same Suzuki motorcycle he’d seen on the way in, blue and white with shiny chrome accents. It was hers. Right. They’d had motorcycles in common. He’d teased her about buying the wrong brand. She slipped the sketchpad into the saddlebag and put the helmet over her head. “It’s kind of a small back seat.”

. . . the tragic loss of Daniel A. Shepard . . . It must have been an accident. He looked at his arms. No wounds. No scars.

Jolene started the engine. He sensed the vibrations warm against his thighs, the smell of dirt and popcorn in his sinuses, earplugs muffling all but the announcer’s voice. An event in his hometown. He couldn’t see Tony’s face in the crowd.

“Let’s go.” Jolene patted the seat behind her.

The ball of his foot tingled, his spine rigid. It has been an emotional time for everyone . . . There had been an accident, had to have been an accident, but he wasn’t “lost,” though even as he thought about it the ground dissolved underneath him, his footing no longer secure on the sidewalk.

Jolene appeared at his ribs, grasped his elbow, and pushed him forward. She was surprisingly strong. He forced his feet to move. On the cushioned leather his knees framed Jolene’s hips as he placed his toes on the foot pegs. A smooth change of gears and they were flying down the two-lane Iowa road, the sun warm behind them, the breeze cooling their skin.

A single stoplight signaled their entrance into Harlan, that and a broad white sign that read, “Harlan: A Growing Tradition.” Jolene eased through the intersection and took them onto what looked like the main road, past a department store and a Subway and a church and a car wash. At the Twelfth Street intersection she turned left and buzzed past a few businesses and shopping areas, then coasted alongside a tree-filled park and a humble neighborhood with an elementary school. About eight blocks later, she slowed by a cemetery. Daniel wondered if she planned to go in, but she went to the next crossway instead, turned left, rolled across the street to the first house on the right, and parked the bike at the curb. The place was a one-story brick-and-siding combo with a wide picture window and one-car garage. At the corner of the yard stood a small wooden sign that read, “Isabella Field, Psychic Medium.”

Jolene dismounted and walked up the driveway. “You should probably come in,” she called to him, and then slipped through the front door without a key. Daniel followed, wondering what they were doing at some psychic’s house. Inside, the smell of incense assaulted his sinuses. Sandalwood, he thought, though there was cinnamon, too, strong cinnamon, as if someone had opened the wrong lid when pouring. Two candle flames flickered on a mahogany stand set against the living room wall. Behind him, the picture window facing the road was covered in heavy, dark drapes.

“Close it,” Jolene whispered. She stood inside and just to the right of the door, her hands in her pockets, her gaze trained on the opposite end of the room where a slim woman—Isabella, Daniel assumed—sat at a desk, a computer screen to her left. The length of her hair was the first thing Daniel noticed, a long and tousled mane of cashew brown that hung over the back of the chair all the way down to the seat. He closed the door behind him and the room went dark, the computer screen suddenly the brightest thing.

“Remember, Bethany,” the woman was saying, “you must never go forward in fear. You have so many other choices you could make in this situation.” Her voice was soothing, a gentle mother’s voice breathed along the radio waves linking it to Bethany’s speakers. The young woman on screen listened intently, brown eyes alert over plump cheeks, dyed black hair short and spiky.

Jolene grabbed Daniel’s hand and pulled him away. They found the kitchen, which was surprisingly sparse compared to the other rooms, the walls a fog gray, the countertops clean granite. Jolene powered through to the back door and stepped onto a porch. She took the wicker chair on the left, propping her boots up on a matching footstool. Daniel closed the door behind him and stood to the right, hands in his pockets. This wasn’t Jolene’s house, that much was clear, so he didn’t know why she’d brought him here, but she didn’t seem in the mood for questions.

The back yard was about double the size of the front, the grass lush and still glistening from a recent sprinkle. Flowers bloomed in overcrowded beds at either side of the porch, in hanging baskets at its edge, and in two more circular beds out in the yard, one with a birdbath in the center. Two robins ducked and splashed while holding out their wings. When the back door opened and Isabella stepped out, they flitted off into the trees.

“This is a surprise,” she said to Jolene. “I thought you’d be packing.”

Jolene gave her a short hug, then stepped back to where she could look at them both. “That was the plan.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I needed to see you.”

“I have a break between calls.” Her shoulders were bare except for the red bra straps that cut across her fair skin, velvet sleeves clinging to her upper arms. She caressed the leather fringe on Jolene’s jacket. “I remember this. She wore it all the time. It’s a little big for you, though.”

Jolene pulled the zipper up about an inch. “I wanted something of hers. To take with me.” She glanced at Daniel.

Isabella caught the glance and turned. Her gaze passed over him as if he weren’t there. “What is it?”

Jolene stared at one and then the other. Isabella looked behind her again but it was clear she saw nothing. “What?” she said. Jolene retreated, one hand out to steady herself on the porch railing. A dog barked from somewhere down the road, a noisy truck grinding its gears.

“Should I introduce myself?” Daniel said. “Ma’am, my name is Daniel.”

Jolene watched as the woman failed to respond. “You don’t see him?” she asked.

“See who?”

“I think she’s talking about me.”

“Him!” Jolene pointed. “You don’t see him?”

“What? Who am I supposed to see?”

Jolene thrust one hand into her hair and buried it on top of her head. Daniel looked from her to Isabella and back again, his frown deepening. Was the woman teasing Jolene on purpose?

“I thought they must have gotten it wrong,” Jolene said. “It had to be wrong because he was just standing there and I could touch him and he felt real and . . .” She pivoted and hit Daniel in the chest. “He’s there! Right there!” She thunked him again with the heel of her hand, then grabbed his face and turned it to Isabella. “You can’t see him?”

Isabella cast her gaze around, her expression growing increasingly alarmed. “See who?”

Jolene released Daniel and backed away, shaking her head. “Oh my god. I wish Mom were here.”

Daniel watched helplessly as Isabella took Jolene’s hand and drew her back inside the house. The gray walls surrounded them again as she led the way through the kitchen and into the dining room, a separate room unto itself across from the living room. There, she sat Jolene in the chair opposite a smaller window with gold-colored drapes. Taking her own seat on the other side of a grand mahogany table, she gestured between them. “Out with it.”

The space looked like a meeting room for a secret society, the wood floor covered by a red oval rug laced with gold ornate designs reminiscent of royalty, the thick table an overbearing presence in the middle of it. Jolene clung to the purple stone around her neck. “The dream I told you about,” she began, but then glanced at Daniel and gestured toward the woman. “This is Isabella.” Another gesture. “That’s Daniel.”

Isabella’s gaze darted about. “You don’t mean . . .”

Jolene nodded.

“Des Moines Daniel? He’s here, now?”

Des Moines Daniel? So Jolene had told Isabella about him. Though Isabella didn’t seem pleased that he was there.

“What does he want?” she asked.

“To go to California.” Jolene said it as if it were obvious.

Isabella lowered her voice. “San Francisco?”

Jolene met her gaze.

“You can’t do that.” She grasped Jolene’s hand in both of hers. “We talked about this.”

“Talked about what?” Daniel came to the edge of the table but Jolene held up her hand before he could say any more.

“Why can’t you see him?” she asked. “You do this stuff every day.”

Isabella looked around again and then sat back in her chair. Sunlight came through the gold drapes behind her, brightening the henna tattoo that snaked along the back of her hand. “Something must be different.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“I haven’t seen any of the others either, though.”

“But they were never here. They never came here. He’s here.”

Others? Daniel thought.

“They’re your ghosts, honey.”

“Ghosts?” Daniel said. “What are you talking about?”

Jolene cast him an exasperated look. “He’s not really . . .” She stopped. “He’s . . . solid.”

“Of course I’m solid.” Daniel waved his hands in front of Isabella, then looked back at Jolene. “What’s the matter with her?”

Isabella rubbed her bottom lip. “Solid to you.” She arched a graceful eyebrow.

“So you think—” Jolene began.

“You’re saying I’m a ghost?” Daniel blurted. “Is she saying I’m a ghost?”

“That is has something to do with you.” Isabella said. “Your connection to him. Maybe?” When Jolene looked disappointed, Isabella got up and left the room, the scent of vanilla trailing after her. Jolene slumped, the tall back of the chair dwarfing her small figure in dark wood.

Daniel sat down next to her. “What are we doing here?”

“She was my mother’s best friend.”

“Was?”

“You don’t remember that either?” Jolene grasped the lapel on her jacket and pulled it close, the way a child might pull a blanket near.

Daniel dropped his gaze, scanning his memory. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” They had sent emails. He squeezed his eyes shut. “She was sick . . .”

“Cancer.”

“Right. Stomach cancer.”

“She passed in February. After that Christmas when I had to cancel my trip to see you.”

Daniel stared at her blankly.

She sighed. “Just forget it.”

He rubbed his forehead. He needed to talk to Dr. Reiman. Clearly he’d suffered a head injury. Or had Dr. Reiman already treated it and released him to travel?

“She might be able to help,” Jolene said.

“Help what?” Daniel said. “Is this about that thing on the website?”

“It’s not just on the website.”

“You saw it somewhere else?” When she didn’t answer, he sat forward. “I’m not some ghost.” He tapped her shoulder. “You feel that, right? What ghost can do that?”

“None I’ve ever known.”

“And how many have you . . . known?”

“A lot.”

A lot? He stared at the artist’s palette earrings. He’d found them in a quaint gift shop. The clerk had been an older man with thick gray hair who had teased them about being in love when they’d only been together two days. They’d existed in a world apart that week in Des Moines, a world of art museums and long walks and intimate meals and dark hotel nights. He didn’t remember her ever talking about ghosts. “You trust this woman?” he asked.

“With my life.”

“So why is she pretending not to see me?”

“She’s not pretending.”

“You can see me.”

“That’s no big surprise.”

“Because you see ghosts.”

“Since I was five.”

Daniel wrestled with that one. He didn’t believe in such things, but then he didn’t think she was crazy, either. “You can’t touch a ghost.”

“Not usually.”

“I’m not dead. Christ. I’m sitting here. You felt my pulse!”

“Fine.” Jolene held up her hands in surrender, then crossed her arms over her chest.

Isabella returned, cutting their conversation short. She held a deck of oversized cards in her hand.

Jolene shook her head. “I don’t want that,” she said.

“But they could tell us—”

“I want to know what you think.”

“But we need to consult with spirit. In case . . .”

“What?”

The woman hesitated, strands of hair dangling over the edges of her eyes. “We need help on this.” Positioning herself opposite Jolene, she set the cards on the table and started to separate them.

Jolene stood up and slapped her hand on top of Isabella’s, stopping her. “I want to know what you think. From your experience. What does it tell you?”

The two women faced each other across the table, the tip of Isabella’s fingers trapped under Jolene’s palm. Isabella dropped her gaze. “I don’t know,” she said, and then looked back up into Jolene’s face. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“Not ever?”

“A ghost that feels solid? Even to just one person?” Isabella shook her head. “And showing up today of all days?”

“What’s so special about today?” Daniel asked.

“I had planned to go to Washington,” Jolene told him.

“I don’t want to mess up your plans.”

Jolene released Isabella’s hand and walked around the table. “So what do you think I should do?”

Isabella crossed her arms over her chest. “I think . . .” She paused, gazing into Jolene’s eyes, and her expression softened. “I think what you’re thinking of doing is a bad idea. You should stick to your original plan. Go to Washington and work your way into that art school. But that’s what I thought before. That hasn’t changed.” She scooped the cards off the table and disappeared into the back of the house.

Daniel watched Jolene. He didn’t remember her ever looking so frightened. She was always confident, her steps quick and light, never this heaviness that seemed to weigh on her now. It occurred to him that he should leave. He was the one upsetting her, intruding upon her plans. But it had been so long since he’d seen her, since he had stood this close to her.

Isabella returned, a necklace dangling from her graceful fingers. “It’s a sigil,” she said as she clasped it around Jolene’s neck. “A protective symbol. The ‘J’ shape has always made me think of you.”

Daniel stepped closer to see, inhaling Jolene’s scent, a trace of her musky perfume about her collar. The pendant was made of wiry silver with a shape that did resemble a “J,” though the top line extended only halfway. It reminded Daniel of calligraphy or of Japanese writing.

Jolene let it rest beside the purple stone and raised her eyebrows.

“It will help protect you.” Isabella pursed her lips. “On your way to California.”

Jolene’s expression turned apologetic. “You know what happened. And now he’s here. There can be only one reason.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But Brent says—”

Brent?

“You know what I think of him.” Isabella rested her hands on her hips.

“But he’s the reason I haven’t . . .” Jolene glanced at Daniel, her expression suddenly guilty.

“You say that,” Isabella said. “I don’t give him credit for it.”

“But he’s helped me. You know? I’m in a better place now.”

Isabella frowned. “I’m not so sure of that.”

“Who’s Brent?” Daniel asked.

“Does he know?” Isabella pointed surprisingly close to where Daniel was standing. “About him? Have you told him?”

Jolene shook her head.

Isabella threw up her hands. “I’ve told you what I think. Maybe you need to talk to someone more knowledgeable.”

An uncomfortable silence hovered between them. A clock ticked noisily in the kitchen. Finally, Isabella reached out and gave Jolene a hug. When they broke their embrace, she pressed her lips into a half-hearted smile. “Take care of yourself. Please. Text me.”

“I don’t—”

“I know. No cell phone. But he has one. Text me. Let me know where you are.” Isabella reached out and touched Jolene’s cheek.

Jolene gave her a sad smile and grasped the pendant again. “Thank you.” She turned and drifted out the front door, then paused a moment before moving on down the steps. Daniel followed, sucking his stomach in to slide past Isabella.

“Be careful,” Isabella called from the landing. “She would want you to be safe.”

Halfway down the driveway, Jolene cast a glance across the road to the cemetery. “I never hear from her. Strangers talk to me all the time, but never her.”

“I know what she would have told you,” Isabella called. “Go to Washington. And Brent. She would say he’s no good for you.”

Jolene released the kickstand on the bike. “Yes, she probably would have said that. But what would she have said about Daniel?”

“She wouldn’t care about him. She’d care about you.”

Jolene waved and put on her helmet. Daniel started after her, but then Isabella spoke again in a subdued voice.

“Daniel, if you care about her, if you loved her once, as she told me, you can’t take her there.”

He paused. The woman was talking to him now?

“Find another way to get to San Francisco. Don’t take her with you. She can’t go out there. Not now.”

He walked back up the steps. Leaning close to her face, he spoke: “I don’t know what game you’re playing here lady, but just leave her alone, all right?” He paused, waiting, but she didn’t appear to have heard him. When he turned away, she reached out suddenly. He expected to feel her fingers on his arm, but then her hand was on the other side of him and he hadn’t felt anything at all. She stared blankly his direction. “Daniel?” she said.

He looked down at his arm. He could have sworn her hand just went right through it.

Chapter Four

Classical music played on the tinny desk radio, violins swimming gently over a floating melody while the basses supported them from underneath. His friend Jay, a die-hard rock fan, would make fun of him if he knew, but Daniel needed it to study. It was the only way he could concentrate. Knee-deep in his math homework, he was staring at the numbers and symbols, struggling to comprehend the formula, when Tony interrupted. “Betcha don’t know what this is.”

Half irritated and half relieved, he looked up to see his brother’s arm extended through the doorway of their shared bedroom, a toy dinosaur clutched in his fingers. The rest of him remained hidden behind the wall. “A dinosaur,” Daniel said.

“Duh.” Tony took the answer as permission and entered, making the dinosaur move through the air as if it were walking. Reaching the bunk bed against the wall he hopped backward, landing on Daniel’s bottom bunk. “Betcha don’t know what kind it is.”

Guessing the dinosaur was a regular game between them. Daniel bought bags of the plastic toys whenever he could scrape the money together, ordering them from the man at the downtown toy store to be sure he never got the same bag twice. He set his pencil down to study the latest creature dancing in his brother’s hands. It was Army green and had a short, stout head with two rows of spines along its back. “Stegosaurus.”

“No.” Tony drew out the word. “They have big spikes. He has little ones. And his head is smaller, see?” He lifted the dinosaur again for Daniel’s inspection.

Daniel leaned his elbows on his knees. “Hmm. Is that the brachiosaurus, or whatever it’s called?”

“No! The brachiosaurus has a long neck. This one has almost no neck at all.” Tony tucked his chin down into his throat, trying to make his neck disappear and succeeding only at resembling a toad. “See his tail?”

Daniel covered his mouth to hide his smile. “Looks like a club.”

“That’s the clue!”

“Clubasaurus?”

Tony laughed, one of his belly laughs that scattered invisible sparks all around the room. “Clubasaurus! Ha ha!”

“So what is he?”

“Ankylosaurus!”

“Ankylosaurus? I don’t see anything on him that looks like an ankle.”

“No no no. It’s because of the species he was.”

“And what was that? The ankle species?”

Tony laughed again. “Nevermind!”

“So what is it? Meat eater or plant eater?”

“Plants.”

“With all that armor? He has horns!”

“So the T-rex will leave him alone.” Tony got off the bed and made the toy walk on Daniel’s desk. “What are you doing?”

“Math.”

“Can I help?”

“You haven’t learned this yet. It’s algebra.”

Tony brought the dinosaur up to his brother’s face, as if it were the one speaking. “When will you be done?”

“Another hour?”

“Then can we play apocalypse?”

The end of the world. Tony’s favorite game. The day the meteors (baseballs and tennis balls) fell from the sky and the snow (shredded paper) blew from the north and the dinosaurs were wiped off the face of the Earth. Daniel promised to play as soon as his math was done if Tony would agree to something different this time, like death from volcanic explosions or Earth-wide fire. His brother wrinkled his nose, but then agreed to find a new idea, just not one of those.

A little over an hour later they were destroying the ancient world, though it wasn’t snow and meteors this time but a disease spread by tiny bugs in the form of pebbles. Rashes (ketchup) and blisters (whipped cream) erupted on the dinosaurs’ leathery skin until, writing in agony, they all fell to their doom, only to be brought back (wiped clean) by the god that was Tony Donati. When it was over, Daniel made macaroni and cheese out of a box and they ate while watching television. It was a good night because their mother had to work late and didn’t come back until long after they’d gone to sleep.

A knock sounded at the door. Daniel sat up in bed. It took him a minute to realize he’d been dreaming about Tony and the apocalypse. The sight of the large television, heavy drapes, and cheesy flower prints on the wall brought him back to the hotel room Jolene had gotten for him. He checked the clock. A little past nine. He’d meant to lie down for a while but that was two hours ago. Tap tap tap. A gentle knock. He checked himself. He’d showered immediately after entering the room, but he had no clean clothes. The sweat-stained shirt he couldn’t stand, so he’d left it off, going bare-chested and barefoot with only his jeans on. It would have to do.

“Daniel? It’s me. Open up.”

“Coming.” He opened the door. Jolene stood half hidden behind a stack of folded clothes.

“Some clean ones,” she said, handing them over. They settled solidly on his palms and smelled of fresh laundry detergent. “They may be a little small. He’s not as tall as you are.”

Daniel nearly dropped them. They were his. He stepped aside to allow Jolene in, then followed her, letting the door shut behind them. He ditched the clothes on the edge of the first bed.

“Some toothpaste and stuff.” She set a white sack on the table by the window and then turned to look at him. Her gaze lingered on his bare chest. “You should try one on, be sure they’re going to fit.”

Daniel turned his gaze back to the stack of clothes. A price tag slid out of the pile. The accompanying shirt had a rich, dark green color, with long sleeves, buttons, and a stiff collar, a nicer shirt than he usually wore. It appeared brand new. He slipped his arms into it. “Well?” he said.

She smiled a little. “Looks good on you.”

He finished buttoning and thrust his hands into his pockets, the F-14 Tomcat cool against his fingers. She had showered too, her hair damp and slicked back, her small frame hidden in gray sweats. She cast her gaze around the room and crossed her arms. It was too hot, the first time he’d noticed it.

“Oh, the food.” She passed him by in a blink, headed for the door. “I didn’t have enough hands.”

“Let me help.” He went after her, pausing only when he stood at the hallway in his bare feet.

“It’s okay. I’ll get it.”

He found his shoes, pulled them on, swiped the key off the television stand and charged out after her.

There was no motorcycle in the parking lot. He spotted her hoodie over by a white Ford F-150. She was standing at the driver’s side door. When he came up behind her, she handed him a warm paper sack that smelled like chicken, then reached in again and grabbed a second bag. “Pizza or chicken. Your choice.” It smelled delicious. He followed her back inside, thinking only after the door had closed behind them that she’d had to buy it for him again.

She set her bag on the table by the window and then flopped down on the far bed where he’d been lying and tucked two pillows behind her. She looked tired for only nine-thirty. Daniel put his bag next to hers and glanced her way. His first instinct was to lie down next to her, but he took a seat at the table instead, dumped the bag on its side and pulled the Styrofoam cartons out. The first held the chicken. He grabbed the leg and took a bite. “Want some?”

“I already ate.”

With Brent, most likely. He chewed for a while, then, “So who’s this Brent anyway?” When she didn’t answer, he tried again. “Your boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “He’s . . .” she fiddled with the pillowcase next to her. “He’s helped me a lot.”

“So he’s your boyfriend?”

She rolled her eyes, signaling he’d get no more out of her.

He dropped the clean leg bone onto a napkin and took the thigh. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

She pushed herself up, re-stacking the pillows behind her. “We have to talk about tomorrow.”

“I’m calling Jay. My friend from the team.”

“I know. I met Jay.” Her gaze was curious. Did he remember? “After that.”

“You know something else you’re not telling me?”

“You saw what it said on the website.”

He didn’t need reminding. The words kept bubbling up in his head. As a result of a tragic accident . . .

“And you saw how Isabella reacted.”

“I think she was playing with you.”

“She doesn’t play that way.”

He poked his nose into the first bag again and then the second one. Finding nothing to drink, he set the half-eaten thigh on a napkin and got up. “Water?”

“Thanks.”

He returned with two full plastic cups, gave one to her, and sat down again. “I don’t know what’s going on with Diamond Xtreme. But clearly, I’m not dead.” She didn’t respond to that, so he wiped his lips and went back to eating, quickly polishing off the thigh. The next Styrofoam bowl contained mashed potatoes. He started in on that.

“I thought you’d probably like the chicken,” she said.

“You want the pizza?”

She hesitated, then nodded. He took the food to her, along with a napkin. When she reached for it, their fingers touched.

“Thanks.” She let the box settle on her lap.

“I’ll call Jay tomorrow. Get it all straightened out.” He swallowed another bite of potatoes. “You can go on your trip with what’s-his-name like you planned. Forget you ever saw me.” He regretted it the instant he said it. It came out cold, like he didn’t care about seeing her. Stupid.