The Possession (4 page)

“Yup. They’re here,” I answered, placing the pickle jar in.

Aunt Dwill peered into the picnic basket, taking stock. “Four tuna wraps, fruit salad, potato salad,” she mumbled, moving the contents about. “Pink lemonade! Good choice. Hmmmm . . . wait.”

She crossed to the pantry closet and returned, dropping a bag of potato chips into the basket. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

As we started across the yard, I whistled for Rowdy. He came bounding around the corner of the shed, then flew past us and down the path along the bouldered edge of the land. The dog obviously recognized a picnic lunch when he saw one, and knew our destination. Shortly another path would branch off this one, parallel but rock-strewn and dropping down toward the sea. At its end it would tether onto a thin strip of beach, private and pristine.

When we reached the beach, I kicked off my flip-flops and scooped them up, ready to race Rowdy to our picnic spot.

We always put our tablecloth down near the tallest outcrop of rock, knowing that eventually it would provide shade. I tried to wrestle Rowdy to the ground when we got there, but he was too strong and shook me off easily. He dashed toward the waves, woofing and jumping as if celebrating his victory.

I glanced back toward the path, feeling a bit guilty that Aunt Dwill struggled alone with the picnic basket. She planted the basket at my feet.

“What? I’m not that old that I can’t manage a simple picnic basket on beach sand.” She flipped the basket open and tossed the tablecloth to me.

We set out our feast. Rowdy had returned from the water, thankfully shaking off before he reached us, and stretched out near the rocks, gnawing the bone Aunt had brought for him.

My aunt stared at me over her tuna wrap. “So tell me,” she said, “what happened yesterday?” She bit into her sandwich and chewed, waiting for my response.

I swallowed my mouthful of sandwich then took a swig of lemonade, stalling.

But this was Aunt Dwill. She wouldn’t think me crazy. She’d help me figure it out. She always helped me figure things out.

“I’m not sure,” I managed. I took another bite of sandwich. “Zach told you the truth.” I needed to be sure she understood that. “I fainted, but . . . I don’t know, Aunt. I swear someone else was there. I saw someone else.” I leaned toward her. “He was weird.”

Aunt Dwill wiped her mouth with her napkin. “
He
as in this other person you saw? Or he as in Zach?”

I dropped my sandwich onto my plate. “No! Not Zach. This other guy. He was older and, well, old.” I picked up my fork but played with it, scratching it through the fruit salad on my plate. “I think he’s been watching us, this guy. Because earlier I thought Zach said something to me, but he didn’t. I didn’t believe him at first, but now I do.”

“What makes you think this other guy is old, Daphne?”

“His clothes. And his . . . I don’t know. He’s just
old
.”

My aunt had stopped eating, her sandwich gripped in hands that hovered over her plate. “Old. Like another time old?”

Her question startled me. I thought about the man. About his manner and his ruffled shirt and—

“Aroooooof!”

Rowdy suddenly let out a welcoming howl, leaping to his feet, and took off like an Olympic dasher down the beach. Aunt and I visually followed his flight. We spotted a figure at the bottom of the path, moving toward us.

The figure clapped its hands together and dodged as the dog approached. Rowdy leapt past, then turned and chased. The two loped along in the sand, darting at each other, teasing.

Zach.

I watched, riveted. His long lean legs pumped along through the sand. His hair swung on almost bare shoulders, the muscle tee stretched across his chest. That chest tapered down to a narrow waist. His bathing suit clung to his hips.

Aunt stayed oddly silent. Thank God.

Zach reached our picnic spot and dropped to his knees into the sand alongside the tablecloth. Before he could say a word, Rowdy loped up and flung himself onto Zach’s back, draping large paws over Zach’s shoulders.

“Ugh! Don’t slobber, Pup!”

At the word pup, Rowdy slid from Zach’s back, rolling onto his own in the sand. Legs splayed, his back paws pummeled Zach’s leg.

“Who’s a big baby? Huh? Who’s a pup?” Zach teased, scrubbing his fingers all over the one hundred pound dog, finishing at his neck, then behind the big lug’s ears. Rowdy flipped back up and ran off down the beach, but not before butting the wide flat of his head into Zach’s shoulder.

“Don’t you dare touch another thing, young man, until you’ve de-dogged your hands.” Aunt Dwill tossed him a wet wipe.

“Yes, Ms. Edwilda,” Zach intoned then he glanced at me, lifting one corner of his mouth in a smile. He did not see Aunt Dwill’s eyebrow raise but felt the sentiment when a second wet wipe, hummed at him, hit its target. He tucked it aside.

“Pickles! Great.” His wide smile took Aunt’s attention and my breath. “Your aunt makes the best pickles!”

Aunt Dwill shook her head and stood, smiling, “I’m going to get the dog. Have a sandwich with your pickles!”

Zach nodded as he chomped the pickle in his mouth. Once she was out of earshot, he turned serious eyes on me. “You okay today?”

I nodded.

He nodded back and unwrapped a sandwich. “Good. I was—you know . . .”

He stuffed the end of the tuna wrap into his mouth, biting off a piece. I looked away, toward the sea, still trying to make sense of it all. Another thought struck me and I brought my focus back to Zach. “Do you come to this beach often?”

With a shrug, Zach swallowed the last of his sandwich. “Sometimes.” He cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction Rowdy and Aunt had taken. “Your aunt invited me. Said we had the day off for a picnic.”

My eyebrows jerked upward.

“Didn’t she tell you?”

“No.” I snatched the potato chip bag and glared past him at my aunt’s backside as she bent to retrieve the driftwood stick Rowdy dropped at her feet. If I’d known Zach would be here, I would have taken more care with my appearance. I definitely would not have worn this particular bathing suit with its stupid sarong.

Movement brought my gaze back to Zach. After he shot another backward glance at Aunt Dwill, he leaned toward me. He reached across my bent leg for the chips but hesitated, then dropped his hand to mine where it rested on my knee, chip bag still clutched in it.

The gentle pressure of his fingers as they brushed across my knuckles sent a spray of electricity up my arm and across my body.

He had my undivided attention.

And I apparently had his. Indigo eyes lifted to fix their gaze on my face. “Do you mind? That I’m here?”

“No.” Transfixed, it was all I could manage.

“And you aren’t mad that—”

“No!” My swift answer cut him off. I couldn’t bear to hear him say the words. I would die of embarrassment. His face was just inches from mine. What if he wanted to kiss me again? What if he could see I wanted him to?

The potato chip bag exploded.

It was ripped from my hand and
pow
! Zach and I were covered in potato chips. He leapt to his feet. I watched in fascinated horror as his legs came up from under him.

Zach had been shoved to the ground.

You know the scene in a movie where one main character gets shot and the other one screams, only the director doesn’t let you hear it? You see fire from the muzzle, get a close-up of the character’s mouth opened in a slow motion ‘
NO
’ but there’s no sound?

It really can happen that way. In an instant all sound around me ceased, except for the muffled cry of my own voice inside my head.

“Zach!” I surged up onto my knees, though it felt like a thousand pounds of molten tar tried to hold me back.

Zach didn’t move. Not a leg, not a finger. A lock of hair blew in a stream across his face and though his eyes were open, he never even blinked.

“Zach?” I didn’t recognize the strangled whisper as my own voice. I scrambled across to him on hands and knees.

Sound returned. Actually all hell broke loose.

Before I got to Zach’s side, Rowdy slid to a stop beside him. He scrunched his front down, lips opened with a slight curl.

“Grrrrrrrrrgh.”

The guttural sound gave me the creeps, and I spun back toward the tablecloth to see who was behind me. Aunt Dwill raced up from the left, breathless, bringing my attention back to Zach.

“Daphne Merilda! What on earth . . .” She spotted Zach. “Oh my God.” She dug through her fanny pack and pulled out her cell phone, punching in 911.

“Daphne?” Zach called, his voice a weak crackle. Rowdy sprawled alongside him and started to lick his wrist.

Pushing my hair behind my ear, I leaned over him. His eyes focused on me and I touched his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked. With my nod, his gaze started shifting, as though he were trying to scan the area. “Get Eddie.”

Eddie? Who the heck was Eddie?

“Help me with this, Daphne,” Aunt Dwill barked, hastily tossing stuff from the picnic cloth.

I realized what she needed and untied the sarong from around my hips. I folded it in half and tucked it around Zach’s shoulders and chest. “Be right back,” I murmured.

Aunt crossed to Zach’s side and stretched the picnic cloth over his entire body, folding it back over and tucking that, too, around him. I scooped up our belongings and crammed them into the basket as she touched his forehead. She spoke in a soft voice, but I could hear her questions.

“What’s your name?” Her fingers lightly probed his neck.

“Zach.”

“Zach what?” She checked his pulse.

“Zachary. Zachary William Philbrook.”

“What day is it, Zach?” She ran her hands lightly over his collarbones and down his arms.

“Thursday.”

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“James Philbrook.”

“Do you have any pain anywhere? Zach! Look at me. That’s right. Good.”

“Daph . . . Where’s Daphne?” His legs moved, kind of uncoordinated, but moving just the same.

Aunt patted his knee. Then his other knee. She glanced back at me and tried to smile but her mouth stayed a tight straight line.

The wind had pulled clumps of curl from her messy bun and now whipped her eyes with it. She moved to tuck them back and Zach, who had worked an arm out from under his covers, grabbed her hand. He pulled her toward him, straining to lift his head.

She eased him back and tilted her head near his ear. I could see his mouth moving, but couldn’t hear the words. A tear slid from the far corner of his eye and into his hair.

Whatever he said meant a great deal to Aunt Dwill. I watched as she gazed into his face, brushing his tear away and his hair back. She tucked the strand of it behind his ear to keep it clear of his face. She spoke into that ear, then patted his hand and tucked it back by his side, beneath the cloth. Zach seemed to relax. Aunt waved me forward.

The high pitched scream of sirens pierced the air. In seconds a couple of EMTs picked their way down the path then raced across the sand. They were followed by Mr. Barrett, Town Fire Chief, and several of the firemen.

Aunt Dwill grabbed Rowdy by the collar, but it took both of us to drag him away from Zach’s side. Once she had the dog’s attention, Aunt made Rowdy sit and asked that I hold onto the collar while she spoke with the emergency techs.

The techs went through the same routine Aunt Dwill had performed. After checking Zach thoroughly and asking a bunch of questions, they helped him sit up.

He looked like crap. There was a paleness beneath his skin; that’s the only way I can think to describe it. They checked his eyes and his blood pressure after he’d been sitting up for a few minutes, then helped him to his feet.

This was not the strong and healthy Zach I knew. His legs wobbled beneath him, and he clutched at his chest. His hands shook and he seemed unable to even lift his head enough to toss his hair back over his shoulders.

The EMTs lifted the stretcher to knee height and lowered Zach onto it. They piled more sheets and blankets on top of him and strapped him in.

Aunt Dwill reached my side and placed a comforting arm around my shoulders. “Do you want to ride with him, Daphne?”

I looked up at her with watery eyes. “Yes,” I croaked out.

Aunt put Rowdy’s leash on him, and we followed the rescue personnel. Mr. Barrett had insisted on carrying the basket for us. He handed it off to one of the firemen. Our group snaked its way up the path to the waiting unit.

They loaded Zach into the back of the rescue truck then attached all sorts of monitor wires to him. A lump formed in my throat at the sight. One of the techs turned to where I hovered on the fringe of their activity. “Are you riding with us, honey?”

At my hesitant nod, the kind man held a hand out to me, beckoning, “Come on, then. I’ll help you in.”

Several bikes skidded to a halt near the fire truck.

Chantal and her bunch.

Suddenly, I was being escorted away from the rescue, the tech’s face twisting into a question. Mr. Barrett had taken me by the arm and walked me to my aunt while he waved the rescue off behind me.

“Now, Dwill. You know we can’t let her ride in the rescue.”

A strange expression dropped down over my aunt’s face. “No. I didn’t know. Why would that be, Ralph?”

The doors of the rescue slammed shut. The engine revved.

“She’s not kin, Dwill.”

A look passed between them that I didn’t understand. I can tell you it wasn’t friendly.

“Since when does that matter?”

“Now, Dwill, don’t be difficult.”

The rescue’s lights flashed on and with a spit of rock, they departed. The firemen cleared the bikers from behind them then that truck, too, drove off.

I could feel Chantal’s eyes boring into my back, but I refused to look in her direction. Who cared about the stupid town kids? I just wanted to get to the hospital.

“I’d like to know what happened that the Wentworth women had to deck him,” Chantal addressed her group loudly.

At the same time, a smirking Mr. Barrett swung his now sweating self away from Aunt Dwill and headed toward the chief’s wagon.