The Possession (14 page)

He transferred a rock to his left hand, then another. He looked at one and tossed it back then stood. He motioned me forward. I frowned.

“Bring your basket, woman, and quickly,” he called, before turning his attention back to his feet.

I could not hold off my curiosity. Dropping my dress in a heap beside his shirt, I gathered my basket up and hurried to the waterline.

“Pray tell me, what are you doing, Vincent?”

He smiled, a ray warmer than the sun. “So you do know my name.”

I fanned my hand before my face, to block my blush from his gaze and turn his attention. “What have you in your hand?”

Vincent straightened and called me forward with a hook of his head, his arm now pressed to his side and lined with . . . what?

Caution to the wind, I plunged into the surf to his side.

He dropped his armload of clams and quahogs into my basket. “Dig your toes into the ocean bed, Ro, and feel for the shells. Then ferret them out with your hand. Here. See?”

Vincent clenched my elbow and drew me near. My foot touched his and I drew back so hastily, I came near to losing my balance. His laughter did not sting, coupled with his teasing words, “My feet do not bite, Dorothea.”

I have discovered I prefer he call me Ro. My full name did not hold the same caress. “But what of the rest of you, Fire Spotter?”

His eyes narrowed briefly in surprise. The slow smile that spread across his face quivered my limbs, but his deep and private tone raced my blood. “We shall see, though I would call it by another name . . . Ro.”

He began to fade. No! He couldn’t leave. I had to ask him about the journal. I had to know . . .

“DAPHNE!”

Anger and horror burst forth in that one word. I turned my face toward the beach, to see who would yell at me that way and a wave took my legs out from under me.

I tumbled over and under, scraping the rocky bottom, trying to discover which way was up. My lungs were about to burst when I was hauled from the surf.

He half-carried, half-dragged me to my abandoned shirt and tossed me there, falling to the sand by my side. I coughed and wheezed and tried to focus on my rescuer.

Zach. He struggled into a sit, sucking in great gulps of air. Scratches covered his chest and his hair hung in limp ropes in front of his face. I pulled myself up and stroked his hair back off his face.

“My God. Daphne.” He panted, his eyes thunderclouds. “Are you insane?”

“What! How dare you yell at me,” I fumed.

“How
dare
I?”

“Yes, how dare you. If you hadn’t yelled at me, I would have been perfectly fine.”

“If I hadn’t yelled at you, you would have walked right off the underwater shelf into the worst undertow this side of Portland.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“No, Zach. I wasn’t anywhere near there.” But as I looked at the water and rocks and up the beach to the drag mark in the sand indicating our passage, I realized he was right.

“I can’t do this, Daph. I can’t keep doing this.”

Tears filled my eyes. “You have to, Zach. You can’t bail on me now.”

“No, Daphne. I don’t have to. I don’t have to stand by and wait to see how they’ll try to kill you next.”

My mouth fell open and Zach tossed me my shirt.

“Stay,” I pleaded.

“No,” he answered and started to stand.

I launched myself at him, knocking him back to the sand.

“Stop it, Daph.”

When he tried to get up again, I pushed him again. This time he landed on his back and I straddled him. “Make me.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and with a buck and twist of his hips, he knocked me aside and again pushed up from the sand. I chopped his elbow, making his arm buckle.

I didn’t move fast enough, though. He landed half on me and instantly locked me in place with his leg. I pushed at his chest and tried to squiggle out from under him. He pinned my free hand to the sand and put his face to mine.

“Don’t try to muscle me, Daph. You won’t win.”

I went limp, defeated. As soon as he started to move, I shoved and we rolled.

I won for all of four seconds. He continued the roll until I was beneath him again. Our legs and arms tangled as we tussled and I suddenly realized exactly how much skin to skin contact was going on. Zach’s expression changed at the same time. His eyes darkened further, but it had nothing to do with anger. Our battle ceased.

“You’re so beautiful. And smart. And fun.” He brushed my hair back. “I want you to stay that way, Daph. Maybe if I’m out of the picture, they’ll leave you alone.”

“No.” I touched his face.

“They never bothered you before we met.”

“Don’t you dare do this, Zachary Philbrook.”

But he would; I knew he would. I could see it in his eyes.

Then I could feel it on his lips.

In his touch.

I closed my eyes and willed him into memory, carved him there with razor sharpness. The taste of his lips and their warmth on my neck, my shoulder. The tingle of his fingers down my arm and across my stomach. The almost chafe from the hair of his legs against my smooth ones. I stroked the wiry muscle of his arms and the smooth hardness of his shoulders and back and breathed in his scent.

“How will I do this without you?” I asked, my fingers tunneled into the silken shine of his hair.

“That’s the point. You won’t have to.”

His hands caressed my hair. I held him close, my body pressed to every inch of his that I could. His hands traveled my back once more, his mouth over mine, then he pulled away and sat up. I did, too, and he draped my shirt around me then helped me stand. “Let me walk you home.”

“No, Zach,” I said, retrieving my bucket and beach sandals. “I think I’d rather go alone.”

I know he watched me walk away. I could feel his stare long after I’d left the beach.

Aunt had gone out, but there was a package on the table and a note. “For you from Zach. Said he’d catch you later.”

Tears stung my eyes. I grabbed the package and hurried to my room. Plopping onto my bed, I ripped through the brown wrap. My tears dried instantly.

A green velvet journal. I opened it, almost afraid.

Blank. There was a note tucked inside.

A journal of your own. Record your story. Easier on the next generation. Zach.

Clutching it to me, I did a nosedive into my pillows and sobbed.

I was none too gentle with the glass, the windows of the garage doors taking a beating from my determination to wipe Zach from my mind along with the grime. I didn’t know how to feel. Angry? But I understood his reasons. Sad? But I knew he would come back to me. I hoped. Lost?

Yes. Definitely lost.

I didn’t turn at the footsteps. Aunt knew I was in a mood and would say her piece and go. Agitated when she didn’t, I spun about in a huff.

Chantal backed up a step. Perhaps she understood a glower after all.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, not even feigning good manners.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Hrmpf.” I snuffed at her. “Don’t think I’m interested.”

My rag splashed into the bucket, a perfect hit. I swished it around, rung it out, and returned to my windows.

“About Zach.”

The dry rag from my back pocket polished and buffed the glass to perfection. My eyes remained glued to their surface.

I thought she’d go away. I was wrong. Chantal stamped her foot in agitation and actually grabbed my arm.

“Will you listen to me, Daphne? He’s doing it again and no one will pay attention.”

Oh, I’d pay attention all right. I threw my rag to the ground and crossed my arms. “You sent Gary to molest me, Chantal. Now, why is it I’m supposed to drop everything and listen to you?” My fists went to my hips and she stepped back again. Pretty soon she’d be so far away, I wouldn’t have to worry about listening to her.

“No, Daphne. I didn’t do that. Well . . . not directly.”

“Right. Not directly.” I picked up the rag. “I believe you’re trespassing. There’s the drive.”

“I might have said something. In anger. But I never expected Gary to be so stupid he’d actually do it.”

“Hmmm. Then maybe you should be spending your time with your friends, Chantal, getting to know them better.”

She lowered her head. “And maybe you should be at the cemetery tonight, getting to know your lover better.”

It took every ounce of my control not to haul off and sock her. Instead, I kept my voice steady and calm. “Do you mean my friend Zach? I’m not going to discuss him with you. And I won’t be going anywhere on your say-so.”

“Friend?” she snickered. “That’s not what it looked like at the cemetery.”

Can you actually slap the look off someone’s face? Lord knows I was willing to try. I advanced on Chantal. “Better learn to check facts, Chantal. And your mouth.”

“You were all over each other, what? A few days after you met?” She laughed and pointed at my face. “I do believe you’re blushing, Daphne.”

“For your information, I fainted.”

“Then you’re an awful lot of fun when you’re unconscious. Did you faint at the beach yesterday, too?”

My mouth fell open, then I slammed it shut. But I couldn’t keep quiet. I lashed out at Chantal. “Are you stalking us?”

Her face turned brick red. My eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if you’re stalking Zach.”

Chantal exploded into action. She leapt forward and shoved me. I kept my balance but narrowly missed slamming into the garage doors.

“Oh no, you did not.” I threw the wet rag to the ground.

Chantal put both hands up to ward me off, and backed away. “I don’t want to fight with you. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I stopped my advance. “If I were you, I’d run down that drive as fast as my feet could carry me. Now.”

“Go to the cemetery, Daphne. Tonight. Zach will be there.”

“Will he? Or will you, waiting to pull another stunt?”

“No way. I won’t go near there at night anymore. But Zach will. I know he will. I saw him digging there four days ago. That’s what he did last time. Before your aunt lost the baby.”

Her babbling confused me. What was she talking about?

“His own people sent him away. They packed him off to the woods with nothing, when he was fourteen. But he came back, and that’s when it all started.”

“Are you on something, Chantal?”

“No! Listen. He’ll put some kind of curse on you. He will. That’s why you should leave him to me. I’m not part of it. He won’t have to do this anymore.”

I laughed in her face. “Indians don’t practice voodoo, Chantal. Nice try. Now you listen. Zach is not interested in you. I am not interested in your so-called friendship. Leave us alone. And don’t come back here. Ever.”

“Tonight, Daphne. After dark. The cemetery.”

I widened my eyes at her and stomped my foot in her direction. Chantal backpedaled a foot or so, then turned and raced away.

I retrieved the rag and the bucket. After I tossed the dirty water out and got a bottle of water to drink, I collapsed onto the porch steps, thinking.

Chantal was an idiot. Zach had gone to the woods when he was fourteen all right, but not because he was banished. He’d gone on his Vision Quest. There was a secret place they used. Unlike the old days, he hadn’t gone alone, either. Well, he did, but there was always an elder nearby to make sure nothing went wrong.

Zach said he felt alone, though. The elder never showed himself, and he had no idea where the man was at any given time.

“When you’re fasting for that long,” Zach had explained, “after a time, you don’t think of anything but making it through and receiving your vision.”

His uncle’s friend, the man whose stable he worked at in Nova Scotia, had agreed to be his elder shadow.

“It was a great honor, because Mr. Thibeau is a shaman. My grandmother and her friends were on him like moths on a porch light.”

It had surprised me they’d send someone that old to trek through the woods. “No, he’s like, younger than my dad. It’s because he’s a holy man. And he’s a locator. Works with the Canadian Mounties. He knows all about the woods and all.”

My stomach had relaxed to realize he had been in such good hands. I had more questions, but he couldn’t answer. “It’s not allowed.”

Had Chantal bothered to ask him, she would have known this.

By the time of Zach’s Vision Quest, Aunt had been here four years. Shortly after it, Aunt and Mr. P. stopped seeing each other. I had never made the connection in my mind, but Chantal’s accusation rang in my ears and now another piece of the puzzle fell forward.

‘Before your aunt lost the baby.’

What had Zach said at the hunter’s lodge?

“They called me names. I knew they were going to. It had been shown to me. But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t realize how bad it’d be.”

“What did they call you?”

“Mixed Blood.” His voice, already low, almost disappeared. “Baby Killer”.

I’d started to rail at the unfairness, but Zach sat up, running his hands through his hair. “I know, Daphne. It doesn’t make sense.”

I’d sat up, too, and leaned against the wall. I had pulled Zach to me, and cradled him against my heart. I had brushed my hand through his hair. He had wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Your aunt left us. My dad wouldn’t go near the place.” He lifted his head and his eyes locked on mine. “He loved the lighthouse. He loved Eddie. I know he did, even though he didn’t want me to know. Heck, I loved Eddie. I still do. So does he. But . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked at my watch and the sky. The sun sat low on the horizon. What could Zach have been doing at the cemetery that Chantal thought he was digging? If he was digging, why? Four days ago. Right before they’d come to help and for dinner and a movie.

Zach had never said a word.

I guzzled the last of the water and rose. Time to clean up and head out, hopefully without interference from Aunt Dwill.