Page 92 of Crashing Tides

We take a boat back. Felix unmoors Jordan’s boat, pushes it out to sea. It bobs away, bright and shiny in the sunlight.

Jane waits for us on the beach and she’s the one who takes me to the hospital. She cries when she sees me, and she cries while she explains to the hospital staff that I went missing, that she looked for me all night and found me like this.

I tell the police I got mugged.

They ask a bunch of questions about my life and decide it’s probably a targeted attack, despite the total lack of motive. I describe the perpetrators as masked, but it’s quickly discovered that Jordan and his brother are missing. The cops think they probably ran away after the assault.

I spend two nights in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, a machine beeping away next to me. I have four cracked ribs. I have an infection. I could have complications from being strangled.

Gretchen arrives and weeps all over me. “Your mom never would have wanted this,” she says, blowing her nose into a tissue. “You need to come home. Don’t give me that look,” she adds, reaching for my hand. “This is the second highly suspicious incident you’ve been involved in, Dominic. Somebody has it out for you.”

“And they ran away,” I rasp. “The police think they know who they are.”

“If Halea can’t keep you from being beaten to death, you don’t belong here,” Gretchen argues. As much as I hate to admit it, I see her point.

“I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“This is not the life anyone wants for you⁠—”

“I was stupid!” I burst out. “I let somebody lure me off campus, and it—it went wrong, OK? I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

“Who?” she demands, hands on her hips. “Who lured you off campus? I don’t know if you understand, but someone nearly killed you.”

“I understand,” I grumble. What I wouldn’t give to forget.

“If you won’t leave, then I’m going to have to stay here,” she snaps.

I push the button for more pain medication and doze off to her shouting at me.

When I wake, there are roses in my room. A cheerful nurse hands me the card. “Somebody likes you,” she says.

The card makes my entire chest hurt all over again. I hope you feel better soon. I’m so sorry. They won’t let me in. I miss you.

—D

I wish it was in his handwriting. I think of all the little slips of paper in my room, how he sounded when he said, “My mate.”

If I had a phone, I’d search the term. But all I have is Gretchen’s ancient ereader, which refuses to connect to the internet, but is loaded with dirty romance novels. She’s probably going to be mortified when she realizes how many of them I’ve skimmed over the last two days.

Gretchen finds the note and sighs. “Is this the reason you won’t come back? This mysterious ‘D’?” Then she realizes the implication, lets out an uncharacteristic, self-conscious little laugh.

“Part of it,” I say. Then, softer, “This place reminds me of Mom.”

I’m not talking about the hospital.

She goes quiet at that, shoulders slumping, lips thinning into a line. “I know,” she says at last. “But I’m afraid to leave you here.” She sighs, puts her head in her hands. When she looks at me, her eyes are wet. Guilt surges in my chest. “This place drove your mother mad. She was never herself again after she graduated. I don’t know what happened, if it was related to your father or something else, but she just… She never really thrived.” I wince, and Gretchen is quick to add, “It wasn’t your fault. We saw changes in her long before you came along. It just wasn’t good for her.”

I hate hearing that, learning that this place did something to my mom. But it’s the one of the reasons I can’t leave.

On the other hand, maybe Gretchen’s right. Whatever waits for me in those halls is nothing good. If I’m not around, nobody can force me to reopen them.

Then I remember what Jordan said about Mom doing too good of a job protecting me, that this all would’ve ended years ago if she hadn’t been so determined, and I realize that there’s no point in leaving. This is a problem that has chased me all my life, whether I knew it or not. It’s not going to stop just because I run away. Whatever happened, whatever’s going on in those haunted halls, I need to know.

And if I can stop it, I will.

I wish with all my heart that I could tell Gretchen the truth about what I am, what I know about Mom, but that might put her in danger. But it’s hard to look at her tired, red eyes, her shuddering shoulders, and keep secrets.

“You don’t have to stay here,” she says. “Just know that. You can come home at any time and I won’t ask questions. I won’t be disappointed. I don’t want you to ever, ever worry about letting me or your mom down, OK?”