December 2, 2020
57 days until the Crimson Eclipse
60 days until the Cantini-Sullivan wedding
Daylight invaded and filtered through my shut eyes.
An affectionate slow fire heated one side of me, and on the other side, my bare skin sipped on a chilly sea breeze.
Nostalgia hit me right then. I inhaled, breathing it in like a fine cigarette. Waking up here reminded me of when I was a little girl. I would sleepwalk right out of the house and make my way to the ocean in the middle of the night. By morning, I would awaken, curled up on my side, pressed palms against my cheek, sleepy eyes on the sea. It happened most during winter.
Awake but eyes still closed, I stretched my arms above my head, wanting to stay right here and make this last a little longer.
Then his voice penetrated my moment, woolly like a warm coat.
“You like it here.”
A smile stole the corners of my lips.
I pulled the sheet over my head to hide it.
“I believe if you resist a smile, you’ll forget how to do it,” he said.
“I’m not resisting it; I’m just hiding it.”
From under the white sheet, I could see the silhouette of him sitting by the fire. He shook his head. “Absolutely selfish. Half of that smile may be yours, but the other half is mine.”
“Oh, is it?”
“It takes two, no?”
I sat up and tucked the sheet under my arms, my gaze falling on Stone.
He was only wearing linen trousers with a button fly and gloves. His hair was tousled, and he sat with his legs stretched out and a piping hot coffee resting on his knee, its steam curling into the air—eyes on me.
He had old-fashioned eyes and an eternal gaze. Hooded. Longing. Clutches of despair. The look was always there, but I’d never had a name for it until he told me the truth about him. Old-fashioned eyes.
I didn’t know much about literature or writers, but I knew enough about those who mattered. The ones who didn’t write for money or fame but simply because the story became them, living in their flesh, their blood, their bones, bloating until it burned up inside. And the only way to be free of it was to break themselves open to let it go, cut their veins to bleed themselves dry.
And at this moment, as I looked at Stone, I saw him centuries before, with walls falling around us, a world wrapped in sepia, taking a stroll through The Romantic Period and reading novels from such, where it was dark and forbidding and every love story ending in tragedy. How fitting for a haunted, lonely man to exist at the same time as Poe, who, much like Poe’s characters, was pitted against a dark, ominous fate.
If he could vanish from the past, what was keeping him from simply vanishing at this very moment?
“You’re looking at me differently,” he said suddenly.
“How?”
“Longer. Tighter,” he said. “You’re looking at me with arms that won’t let me go.”
I glanced away, pulling in my legs and hugging my knees, my yawn making my eyes water. I didn’t know what to say. Not because it wasn’t true but because I was afraid it was. “How long have you been awake?”
“Six hours.” He sat back in the chair. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I raised a brow. “Have you been watching me this entire time?”
“Watching isn’t the word I would use.” He squinted an eye. “More like keeping a wary eye on you.” A pause. A concerned look on his face. “What does wistoragic mean?”
Wistoragic? “I ... I don’t know?”
“Why are you sleepwalking?”
My heart bottomed out. “Sleepwalking?”
“Yes, sleepwalking; where one walks while asleep.” He leaned his elbow into the arm of the chair and dragged a palm down his face. When his gaze hit mine again, the look in his eyes sucked up all the lightness in the room. “I awoke to find you at the window as though you were stuck there. You were writing the word wistoragic into the fog repeatedly. And the way you looked at me …” Stone exhaled, not wanting to let go of the words. “Six hours ago, you had forgotten me, not recognizing me at all. Then as soon as I laid a finger on you, you attacked me. If I’m being honest, you scared me half to death.”
“Half to death?” Panic was slowly building inside me. I tried to mask it by covering it up with a smile. “And what happens when you’re scared half to death twice?”
Stone’s gaze settled on me. “At least she hasn’t forgotten her sense of humor.”
I wrapped the sheet around me. “My sister sings to me,” I told him, embarrassed he had to witness it. “I’m an adult, and my big sister still sings to me,” I laughed lightly, “but Ivy’s the only one who could really get me out of it safely. If not, I’d walk right out of the cottage and on to the beach.”
Stone laid his head back. “What about your mother?”
I clutched the sheet, suddenly feeling colder. “What about my mother?”
“Are you close to her?” He had an elbow resting against the arm of the chair, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger. A casual posture for a heavy question.
“My mother hasn’t spoken to me in over ten years,” I said, knowing I didn’t have to tell him but wanted to. I kept my eyes on my two webbed toes as if they would give me the power to keep going. “When I was five, they said she started going crazy, and on my sixth birthday, she tried to escape town and take me with her.”
I looked up at him. “She was so determined, too. She thought she could swim across an entire ocean. And no one really knows how far the sea goes, but when we were swimming, she had this look in her eyes that made me believe we could make it.” My eyes slung to the right as I shook my head. “I sound crazy when I say it out loud.”
Stone opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
A swallow. A subtle shake of his head.
“You’re not,” he finally said. “Crazy, that is.”
“Yeah, well, people in town don’t like things that can’t be controlled, and I guess there came a point where no one could control the crazy woman who wanted to swim away. So, they put her in a catatonic state, and she’s been that way for almost ten years.” I dropped my head to the side. “Let’s just say the one who governs Weeping Hollow takes great pleasure in controlling everything inside. Me included.”
“This town is your glass bottle,” he said, resolved. “You speak of heathens you hate with passion because they murdered your friends ... shadows who take people in their sleep, and a leader who controls you. I don’t understand why you’re so eager to leave me and return to Weeping Hollow each night.”
“Because, Stone, I’m not any better,” I said, and the way he watched me scared me. “I’m a terrible person.”
I had nothing to lose by telling him.
How he thought of me did not impact my life back on the mainland.
Bone Island was an escape, but it had also become a place to share secrets, so we didn’t have to carry them alone.
“For years, I’ve been having homicidal thoughts—” Stone shifted in the chair, sitting up straighter, but I continued anyway. This would make parting easier when the time would come. “—Maybe you’re right, and I’ve been angry for so long it’s really starting to catch up to me. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy like my mother. And sometimes I’m afraid that maybe one day they’ll all find out.”
“I have never crossed paths with a soul who hasn’t experienced violent urges.” Stone leaned in, his voice low. “Even the purest of hearts are drawn to wicked things.”
“But what if I told you I’d killed before?” I added.
Stone became quiet, his eyes never leaving me.
Say something, I wanted to scream.
And then, “Well, have you?”
“Yes,” I said, and I looked up to the ceiling, exhaling, the pressure leaving me at finally telling someone the truth. “Her name was Lena Murphy, and she was in a prison cell awaiting execution. They were preparing to burn her for trying to save her husband.” When I dropped my head, my gaze fell upon him. “So, I visited her before nightfall and slit her wrists so she didn’t have to suffer.”
I waited for him to say something.
He said nothing.
“I’m also planning to kill again. I want to kill the man who did this to my mother,” I confessed because he was so quiet, and I couldn’t stop talking. These were my secrets, and it was time he knew about me. “He cursed her, and she’s been trapped in absolute torment. The only way to save her is to kill him.”
But he just stared, and I wanted to crawl into myself.
I couldn’t stand the silence. “Does this scare you?” I asked him.
“Circe, yes, this scares me,” he said from a held breath. “I know—” He paused with a distant look in his eyes. Like he was thinking but didn’t need to look away from me to do it.
He dropped his head, wet his lips, and looked back up at me. “My mother killed for what she believed was the right reason. Over time, it changed her into something I didn’t recognize, and in the end, I can only assume this was what got her killed. So, if you’re asking me if this scares me, the answer is yes,” he said. He was already looking at me, but I felt his gaze fall on me. “I care about what happens to you, and I’m afraid this will one day take you away from me.”
I didn’t expect him to say that.
And I suddenly needed to be in his arms.
Next I was sliding off the bed and walking to him.
Stone froze until I was standing between his spread thighs. He shifted his coffee to the side table and pulled me onto his lap, and my face buried in the curve of his neck. When he sank us into the chair, he removed his gloves and dragged his palm up back beneath the shirt.
“For a moment there, I thought you were coming over here to hit me again,” he said to me in a whisper. “Is this how it works? I say kind things, and my darling siren falls into my lap.”
“I just wanted you to hold me.”
His body was warm, and I could feel his heart pounding.
“Circe,” he said, fingers drawing patterns on my hip. “If I had a daughter, I would rather suffer than have her live with murder on her conscience.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.”
“It’s very simple. One cannot bear the weight of everyone’s pain. I believe two people who commit themselves to each other fight for each other. It’s why Lena fought for her husband, and she should have endured the consequences alone. It’s your father’s job to fight for your mom. Not yours.”
My leg crossed over his lap until I was straddling him and looking him in the eyes. “I believe everyone has a choice in who they wish to fight for.”
“You’re impossible,” he said, his hands coming over my hips.
I was only wearing his shirt, no panties, and I felt his cock instantly harden beneath me. Stone looked at me, studying my face, ten fingers curling into my flesh. I shifted, a slight grind. His lips parted, and he slowly shook his head.
I kissed the corner of his mouth. “I have to leave soon.”
And when I rolled my pussy against him that time, Stone squeezed my ass, lifting his hips into it as though he couldn’t help himself. My hands flew to the button of his trousers, and he stopped me.
“I can’t.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes flicked to the window. “The sun.”
“It’s okay.” I kissed the other corner of his mouth and resumed undoing his button. “We can do other things.”
He sat up, grabbed my wrists, and moved them behind my back.
He was breathing harder against my chest, and there was a pained look in his eyes. It was almost as if he were ... scared.
Insecurity crept in after all I’d confessed.
I dropped my head to his. “I thought you trusted me.”
In one moment, I was staring into his eyes, and in the next, he was lifting me up by my hips and placing my feet on the ground as he stood.
He grabbed his mug and walked out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.
I turned, confused. “Um ... what just happened?”
“The night was long.” He was already in front of the sink, and he turned the water on to wash the mug. But I didn’t believe him.
I walked into the kitchen, stepped between him and the sink, and turned off the water. “Just spit it out.”
Stone didn’t answer, swinging his gaze away from me, and I grabbed his jaw and forced him to look me in the eyes. “Tell me.”
Stone leaned over me and gripped the edge of the sink, caging me in.
“You either look at my cock with disgust or do your best to avoid looking at it altogether,” he whispered, the words punching me in the chest as his eyes dropped down to his erection between us. His stern gaze hit mine again. “I cannot bear it nor can I erase my scars.” That was when Stone’s attention turned to behind me. He snatched my hand from his face and walked out of the kitchen.
I whipped around. “What is it?”
“Someone’s out there,” he said with long strides to the window.
My heart took off. “There can’t be,” I said, following him.
He looked back at me, offended that I didn’t believe him. “I just saw them, Circe,” he said, pulling me behind him. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
“No,” he was too tall, blocking my view. When I peered around him again, I caught sight of another boat swaying in the water next to mine.
“There.” He tapped the window. “Someone came looking for you.”
And I knew exactly who it was.