Dark Beach (23 page)

“What do you want, Barney?” Jenny put her hands up but took a hesitant step forward. “You think that gun will work this time? You want this house? You want us to leave? You got it. I’m leaving.”

“No
,” his voice was gravelly and he shook his head furiously. “I never wanted this house.
She
wanted it.”

“Rachael?” Jenny asked.

“No.” Barney held the gun out in shaking hands.

“Mom?” Kurt whispered, taking in the unusual dimensions of the room. “I’ve been here before, as a child. I remember now.”

“I had it built for her. Damn near sent me broke. Gave her the world. This house. Everything. Didn’t matter. She still left me.”

“Dad,” Kurt said softly, taking a step closer. “Dad, it was years ago. All in the past.”

In the semi-darkness, Barney made a quick movement with his other hand. Jenny ducked and swore, and then heard the soft
thwack
of the journal hitting the floor.

“No, like yesterday. She left me, Son. Took you. Took the house. Took everything.”

“She didn’t take me, Dad.” Kurt inched closer again. “I’m right here. Look. I always have been.”

“Back!” Barney made a wild swipe with the gun.

Jenny could hear it again, a low keening, a moaning and slapping.
The wind?
It sounded alive.

“She just took and took and took, Son.” Barney’s voice was breaking now, holding back tears. “So I took back. I took ... I took...”

Jenny heard Kurt’s sharp intake of breath. “No,” he said. “No, Dad. Don’t say it. You didn’t. She left us. She went back to the city.”

“She’s dead. I took her life. Buried her out back. I never meant to, Son. I never meant it. She just ... she just kept saying it: that she
’d leave. That she’d leave Rocky Shores for good. Shack up with that damn postman and take you with her.” He paused and blinked suddenly. “And now they’re both dead, the women I’ve loved. Her. Gerry.” He pointed at the journal. “She couldn’t believe she ever loved me—she
wrote that
.” Barney’s head dropped to his chest. He wept, wiping one tear away with the back of the hand that still clutched the revolver.

Emboldened by his father’s tears, Kurt moved forward again. “Give me the gun, Dad,” he said gently.

“No!” Barney yelled. “I said STOP.”

The noise came again, like a low hiss of breath held too long. Jenny shivered.

“Stop!” Barney put the gun to his own head. “I’m sorry, Son,” he said.

Click.

Salt water can be harsh.
Jenny’s thought was cut off by the crash of glass raining down around them as Barney hurled the gun through the window. With a crash, he dove after it, following the gun’s trajectory out through the window, his body plummeting four stories down into the night.

“Kurt!” Jenny ran to him. “God, your dad.” She swung an arm toward the window. “Your dad ... you want me to...”

He held her close, his big hands stroking her hair. “He’s my father,” he said eventually. “I’ll go to him.”

The faint, ruined breathing followed them both down the stairs.

* * *

Red—everything was shifting into shades of bloody red. Jenny could barely see from it. The noise continued. The slapping and moaning, hissing. She was flooded with an awful sense of sinking as she ran down the stairs, searching for her daughter.

“Kip? Kip?” She called. “It’s okay. You can come out now, my darling.”

The toddler did not come.

“Kip.”

Charlie whined a sad hello from the lounge, tucked away in the corner with only a bowl of food and water for company.

“Where is she, Charlie?”

Charlie whimpered.

“My girl, where are you?” she cried.

The family room was empty as well, littered with toys spread across the place.

The closet in the hex room—the one with the phone.
Oh, please don’t let him have hurt her
, she prayed. She run back up to the highest level of the beach house, but her daughter was not there either.

“Kip?” Then it occurred to her.

“Oh no,” she cried, tripping down the hex steps and into the mess of the master bedroom. “Oh no! Please no. Not that. Please not that.”

The bathroom looked as it had before, pills spread across the floor. Her little girl lay still, deathly still, in the midst of the mess.

Jenny ran to her. “No! No! No!”

Kip was white and cold, her body limp.

“My baby.” Jenny cradled her, lifted her up onto the bed.

She checked the pulse and leaned over to feel for breath—nothing. “Kip!” She screamed. Putting her mouth to the little girl’s, pushing frantically on her chest.

“I can’t do this. Not again!” she screamed, cradling her daughter in her arms and carrying her down the stairs, out of the house, over the dunes, down to the shore.

The wet, shallow breathing followed her.

The dune grass scratched at her bare legs, and her dress caught and tore on a blackberry bush, but Jenny couldn’t stop. The jetty, sticking out into the sea like a familiar crooked finger, still seemed so far off, but a lonely star hung in the night above it.

This way
, it whispered.

The salty wind was cold, but she couldn’t feel; her body was numb. Soon she reached it and stubbornly climbed over the jagged rocks, Kip still in her arms. She kept going until she stood at the end, until it was just her, her lost daughter, and the sea.

“You took her from me, too,” she cried in morbid desperation. “First Kim. Now Kip!”

The wind was fierce now, the waves beckoning to her and splashing here and there. She looked at the end—her end.
This was how it was meant to be
, she thought.
It was your fault Kim drowned. Your fault Kip is dead. Now you.

A shout echoed from behind her, mingling with that terrible sound, that slow flapping and hissing of breath, but she fixed her gaze on the star.

The shout came louder.

“Jenny!”

She turned to see the black figure of a man approaching. Ignoring him, she faced the sea.

He crawled over the rocks, closer and closer.

Jenny knelt in the wind, shielding her daughter, prepared.

“Jenny!” It was a familiar voice. “It’s me—Kurt.” He rushed to her, pulling her back from the edge. “Let me look, Jenny. What is it? Oh God, what did he do?” He pulled her down, made her sit on the cold wooden jetty with Kip laid out in her lap.

“Pills,” Jenny said weakly. “My pills.”

A rivulet of vomit trickled from the corner of Kip’s mouth.

“I ... I left them on the floor.”

“Shit! Shit! Look out.” Kurt pushed her away, put his head on the tiny chest.

“She’s gone,” Jenny said numbly.

“Out of the way!” Kurt commanded. “Go on!” He grasped Kip’s small wrist, feeling for the faint beat of a pulse. “Out of the way.” Putting his big hands on Kip’s tiny chest, he began to pump. “One. Two. Three. Four.”

Jenny stepped back, looking at the waves slapping the jetty pylons. The ocean called her there. She wanted to go; she wanted to feel its power, to let it consume the hate, to end the guilt and the sorrow.

“Don’t you even think of going near that water!” Kurt yelled. “I am not diving in to save your ass this time. I promise you that.” He turned his attention back to the child. “Come on!” he yelled, compressing her chest again.

Ice-cold water splashed her in the face. Jenny looked at the nightmare before her.
God, let this work. Let this work.
She snapped to.
What is that noise?
She heard it again. The flapping, moaning. Her head swiveled in the direction of the sound.

A small group had already gathered on the beach, their faces awed by the sight of the enormous black body that studded the sand.

“You! I knew you’d come for her.” Jenny’s voice was empty, blank as the night. Turning, she walked toward them. Some of them passed her, running towards Kurt and Kip.
Poor, lost little Kip
.

Jenny thought she recognized some of them, but she kept going, then she turned and started to run. She ran up the beach, up past the dune to the beach house. Snatching up the knife—her knife—from the kitchen, she spun and ran back down the beach until she stood before the massive beached whale. It made a low bellow and its flippers slapped in the sand.

That was it,
she thought.
It was calling me.

Its black bulk, interrupted by patche
s of decay, lay like a mountain before her.

She held up the knife. A woman screamed and backed away, her face twisting from sadness to confusion and disgust. The noise came again.

Maddening.

Jenny’s mind’s eye saw
it then—the same glossy black, the same sharp teeth. The blow-up whale floating in the bath. It had been the twins’ favorite bath toy, ever since SeaWorld.
Why had she left the toy in there to tempt them?
Why hadn’t she pulled the plug, let the bathwater out like she always did?

She saw it again: Kim’s blonde hair floating out around it like seaweed. Her little face upside down in the water.

Jenny raised her knife again, prepared to plunge it in the heart of the creature. It moaned again, flapped again. A sudden weariness gripped her. Falling to her knees in the sand beside it, she put her head down on its great wet head.

One man approached, but she put her head up and pointed the knife at him and he retreated. “Leave,” she screamed. “Go!”

They did. They ran.

She knelt there alone, the ocean wind calling her to put an end to all of this misery. The whale moaned again, stranded and alone.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “So sorry.” Taking the knife, she sat up and looked along the animal’s shiny hide.
Where was its heart? It must be quick.
Finding a likely spot, she slid the knife forward in one fluid motion. A hiss of air escaped. With one last thrust, she plunged the knife in as deep as it would go. The labored breathing stopped.

“You took Kim. You took Kip. And I took you—no more.”

Her dress bloodied, her knife the same, Jenny threw herself on top of the beast and wept.

* * *

“Jenny?” She felt a hand on her head, a touch so familiar.

She looked up to see casual jeans, a navy raincoat, blue eyes. “Ron?”

“What are you doing down here? I came to the house. I—”

“Ron, you’re here.” She sat up, hiding her face from him. “What are you doing here? What about work?”

“I quit,” he said matter-of-factly. “What are you doing here? I was pulling into the drive when I saw you run out.”

“I killed her,” she blurted out, her tone chilling. “She’s dead. Kip’s dead. She’s on the jetty.”

“Honey, what do you mean?” Ron pulled her to her feet, pulled her to him.

Jenny pushed him away, one bloodied arm pointing to the commotion down on the jetty. “See. She’s gone … forever. Just like Kim.”

“Honey. Oh, honey.” Ron looked at her there, standing with her arms open, her face a mask of pain. “I’ve just been down there. I thought it might be you down there. She’s breathing, Jenny. A man was down on the beach, a fisherman. He did CPR. And an ER nurse was down there, too—a lady named Betty. Look!” He pointed to a stretcher being carried up the beach. “Come on, come with me. We need to go to hospital with her. But she’s breathing. She’s alive, honey.”

Jenny gazed back at him vacantly. “It’s my fault, Ron. I had her. My pills. Kip,” she pointed. “It’s just like before.”

Ron sighed and reached out for her, pulling her into his arms, blood and all. “Jenny, Kim died. It was an accident. Chance, or fate—or I don’t even know. She was our baby, and she left us, but she’s okay now. It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. I love you. I should never have left you here alone.”

Jenny let herself fall into his embrace, feeling his warmth, his love.
“Ron,” she said slowly. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know. I heard. It’s a miracle.”

* * *

“May she rest in peace.
” they all said, as Geraldine Rose James was lowered into the hallowed ground. Ron hugged his petite, sobbing mother and Jenny and Kip all together. Rachael tossed a white bouquet of roses and seashells onto the ivory coffin before the first clod of soil was thrown in on top.

The crowd retreated in broken groups back to the beach house for the wake.

Jenny, clad in black, fanned her face with one hand.
I need fresh air
, she thought, escaping unnoticed to the back patio to watch the swaying dull-green dune grass. Her thoughts flew to Kurt, burying his father on the same day. She felt a strange peace at that.
Crazy to the end
, she thought.
Gerry and her fisherman both went together, at least.
She closed her eyes, squeezed the tiny hand in hers. Kip sat up straight beside her in the patio chair. “Thank you,” Jenny whispered silently. Kip’s hand squeezed hers back.