Dark Water: A Siren Novel (20 page)

“Y
OU KNOW, IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WAIT TABLES
, you can tell me.”

Simon shot Paige a look.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But twelve stitches? I have to joke or—”

“She’ll completely lose it,” I finished lightly. “And it’s too early in the summer for that.”

Simon turned to me. “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything else?”

“I have food, pillows, blankets, and my favorite people. What else is there?” I patted the couch next to me. “Sit. Please. Eat.”

His frown deepened as his eyes lowered to my bandage.

“It’s only my left hand,” I said. “If I can still hold chopsticks, I can do anything.”

Doubt lingered on his face, but he sat down and took his plate from the coffee table.

“Security cameras,” Paige announced, biting into an egg roll. “Totally buying them next. I can’t believe the restaurant’s gone so long without.”

“Excellent idea,” Simon said.

“But not essential.” I wanted to reassure Paige, who I knew felt responsible. “Betty’s has never had a problem before, right? And plus, I was in the basement. You can’t monitor every dark nook and cranny.”

“Yes, I can,” she said.

“Vanessa, will you just walk us through what happened?” Caleb asked, from the love seat. “One more time?”

I bit back a sigh. I’d already recounted the events in the car on the way to the hospital, where I hadn’t wanted to go but went anyway since we couldn’t control the bleeding with Band-Aids and gauze pads alone. I’d trusted doctors wouldn’t need to take blood or do anything else that might alert them to the fact that I wasn’t their average patient, and fortunately, I was right; we were there for less than an hour, no extra tests or exams required. Then, after leaving the hospital, I’d told the story a second time on the drive here, to the lake house. I knew my friends were just worried and wanted to make sure they had all the information, but I’d prefer letting it go, forgetting about it. Because the more we talked about it, the greater the distance between Simon’s and my (mostly) happy date seemed to grow.

But it was either this or go to the police. Paige and I hadn’t wanted to bring any more attention to the situation and had convinced the boys that alerting the WHPD wasn’t necessary—yet.
The more they knew, the better they’d feel about figuring out who attacked me and why, without involving the authorities.

“I went downstairs to get supplies for the restroom,” I said. “While I was in the storage closet, a box fell, hitting and shattering the overhead light. I was trying to open the box with my keys when a guy, who I assumed was Simon since it was so dark, came in. He got a little rough, I cut myself on a piece of glass, he freaked out, and I left.”

“And he shoved you?” Caleb asked. “That was it?”

I glanced at Simon. I’d omitted some details I thought would upset him unnecessarily, and his jaw was still tense as he stared at the untouched plate on his lap.

“That was it. So it was actually good that I cut myself and screamed. Because the big, tough guy couldn’t handle the sight of blood.”

“But if it was so dark,” Paige said thoughtfully, “how’d he
see
the blood?”

Our eyes met. Hers widened and she mouthed, “Sorry!”

“Simon called,” I said. “He saw it in the light from my cell phone, which had fallen to the floor.”

“But it was still too dark to get a look at him?” Caleb asked.

“I didn’t really try,” I confessed. “All I cared about was getting out of there.”

Simon’s hand found my knee, squeezed.

“And no one else saw or heard anything?” Caleb directed this at Paige. “The kitchen crew didn’t notice some random, angry guy passing through?”

“The kitchen crew consisted of Louis and a busboy, both of whom were so crazed, they wouldn’t have noticed a commercial jet land on the prep counter. There’s no other way out of the basement, and he certainly didn’t come back through the dining room, so he probably slipped right out the staff entrance.” She finished off the egg roll, chewed, and swallowed. “Hence the security cameras. Tomorrow.”

“He has to be with that group, right? The one stirring up stuff about last summer, whose camera we have?” He shook his head. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Or it could be one of those guys from the orange truck.”

Simon looked at Paige. “What guys?”

“What orange truck?” Caleb asked.

Our eyes locked again. This time, she didn’t bother with a silent apology. “You know what? I told Natalie I’d call with an update, and it’s getting late, so I should do that.” She stood, taking her plate of Chinese food with her. “The reception’s better outside. I’ll be on the deck if you need me.”

She left. Caleb, Simon, and I sat silently for several seconds before Caleb jumped up and headed for the door.

“Speaking of the camera, I haven’t checked our e-mail today. Be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, I sat up and hooked one arm through Simon’s.

“It was nothing,” I said.

“What … was nothing?” he asked, his voice strained.

“A few weeks ago, these two guys, fishermen, I think, talked
to me at the hardware store when I went there for my dad. When I left, they followed me around town for a few minutes. It was no big deal.”

He put down his plate, pulled away, and shifted on the couch to face me. “Vanessa, that is a big deal. It’d be a big deal even if the rest of it—what you heard at the open house, the camera, Carla, today—hadn’t happened. Why are you making light of it?”

“I’m not.” And I wasn’t—at least to myself. “It’s just—I’m fine. I’ll
be
fine.”

He took my injured hand in his. “Twelve stitches isn’t fine. Something worse could’ve happened if I hadn’t called when I did this morning. That’s not fine either. We have to talk about these things.”

I didn’t say anything. Only one word came to mind—
why?—
and I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to hear his answer.

“Did you recognize them?” Simon asked quietly, a moment later. “The guys in the hardware store?”

“No.”

“But they drove an orange truck?”

I nodded. “It was old. Boxy. With fishing poles hanging out the back.”

“Maine license plate?”

“I think so. It was pretty dark.”

“Okay. I don’t recall seeing it around, but most fishermen, local and not, pass through the marina at some point for bait and tackle. Caleb and I will keep an eye out. In the meantime,
if anything else happens, even something as seemingly small as a random guy bumping into you on the street … will you tell me? Please?”

He sounded so sad, I agreed, even though I knew I’d continue to edit as necessary. If we both wanted the same thing, what did it matter how one of us helped make it happen?

“There is actually something else I need,” I said, after we’d picked at our food without speaking for what felt like hours, “that’ll definitely make me feel better.”

His face brightened. “Another blanket? More water?”

I stood and held out my good hand. He glanced at the back door, which remained closed, then took it. I led him across the living room and upstairs.

“Vanessa,” he whispered, “where are we going? Isn’t the second floor off-limits?”

“No more than the first.” Which, given the lake house’s absence of parents, had become our unofficial late-night gathering place. “And no one will know we were here. I just want to show you something.”

It was pitch-black upstairs, but I knew every inch so well, we reached the bedroom at the end of the hall without a single collision. I left that overhead light off, too, letting the moon’s bluish glow guide us to the small window seat across from the doorway.

“What are we looking at?” He peered through the window.

“My favorite place.”

“The lake? It’s a great view.”

“Best in the house. But that’s not what I meant.” Still holding his hand, I tugged gently until he stood before the right side of the window seat, then pressed down on one shoulder for him to sit. “Now look.”

He craned his neck. “It’s an awkward angle. All I can see are a lot of leaves and part of my house.”

“Which part?”

“The roof … and a den window.”

I hesitated, wanting to see if that meant anything to him. When he turned to me, I explained.

“You liked to work there. At the desk by that window. I know because I spent many summer nights reading in this exact spot. You’d be there, head lowered, calculating or measuring or analyzing, when I sat down, and you’d still be there when I looked up a hundred pages later.”

“The light must be really good here.”

“Not the best in the house, actually.” When he turned for another look, I added, “I didn’t, like, stalk you or anything. It was just nice knowing you were there. Comforting.”

He seemed to study the view. As the seconds passed, I wondered if bringing up the past was a good idea. It certainly wasn’t the obvious choice for convincing him I was someone else, but I thought it still might work, since the old Vanessa hadn’t been bold enough to share this spot and secret.

Before I could really worry, he turned back and said, “I wouldn’t have minded if you did.”

He hooked one finger on the pocket of my jeans and pulled
me into his lap. I nuzzled against his chest and brought my knees to mine. He wrapped both arms around me and held me close. Then, since it had worked well so far, I closed my eyes and shared some more.

“I want to be with you, Simon,” I whispered. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say that … I don’t know if you want to hear it … but I do.”

I could feel his heart beat stronger, faster. “When I think of you first thing in the morning, I want to be able to call and hear your voice. When something good happens, I want to tell you before I tell anyone else. When I can’t sleep at night, I want to eventually drift off knowing I’ll see you the next day.” I opened my eyes, found his. “More than anything, I want to make you happy—not worried or concerned or protective.
Happy
. Every day, for as long as you’ll let me. If you’ll let me.”

These, too, were words I wouldn’t have said a year ago, even though they’d been as true then as they were now.

“What if the longest I can let you is a month?” he asked quietly.

My heart sank. Was he going back to school early? Did he, like Charlotte, think it was best to cut ties sooner rather than later?

Did it matter?

“I’ll take it,” I said.

He pulled me closer, lifted his chin so his lips were inches from mine. “This summer?”

“Even better.”

His mouth neared mine. “Forever?”

A ball of heat burst in my belly, shooting off waves of warmth. “Please.”

The kisses that followed felt new, different—even from the ones we shared on the covered bridge. They were at once tender and urgent, soft and firm, sweet and passionate. And they probably would’ve lasted until we felt daylight on our backs as the sun came up the next morning—if a door didn’t slam suddenly below us.

“Simon?” Caleb yelled.

“Vanessa?” Paige shouted.

We pulled apart, jumped up. Simon took my hand and held on tight as we ran out of the room and downstairs.

“What is it?” he asked, before we’d even cleared the last step.

Paige moved aside the take-out cartons littering the coffee table. Caleb put down his open laptop. They both sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the screen.

“We got responses,” Caleb said. “To the camera post in the
Herald
.”

“You gave out your e-mail?” I asked, following Simon around the coffee table.

“I created a new address just for this.”

“Lostcamerainwinterharbor at gmail dot com,” Paige read from the screen. “Clever.”

“Thanks.” Caleb’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed. “I wasn’t sure our Wi-Fi would reach here, so I downloaded all the messages without reading them.”

We were silent as we watched the e-mails load.

“They’re all from different addresses,” Paige said.

“Which look as made-up as yours.” Simon leaned closer. “Just a bunch of random letters and numbers at the same server.”

“And they all have attachments,” I said, noting the paper clip icons. “What’d they do? Retake pictures with another camera to prove the one we have is theirs?”

“But they’d need only one e-mail address for that,” Paige said.

These questions were answered as more were raised. The attachments were pictures—each e-mail contained one photo and no message—but they weren’t ones we’d already seen. There were a few nature shots, close-ups of other rocks and patches of grass, as well as several taken around town—at Eddie’s Ice Cream, the miniature golf course, the library. People were in the latter, though they didn’t seem to know their pictures were being taken. And the camera didn’t focus on any one person in particular.

“That’s all of them,” Caleb said, once the last had loaded.

“Can you map the locations?” Simon asked.

Caleb typed some more. “No coordinates. They must’ve wised up and disabled the GPS on their new camera.”

He scrolled slowly through the images. I was searching for a common link when Paige put one hand on Caleb’s, stopping the cursor.

“That girl’s in every people shot.” She pointed.

“How can you tell?” Caleb asked. “You can’t even see her face in this one.”

“Green purse and pink shoes,” Paige said. “They’re hard to miss.”

She was right. The girl, who’d been caught buying a sundae, putting on the ninth hole, returning a book to the overnight bin, and running other errands, was in every picture that featured people.

“Why?” Simon asked. “Who is she?”

As Caleb zoomed for a better look, the computer beeped.

“I guess our Wi-Fi reaches after all.” He minimized the photo and pulled up his e-mail, which was still open. “There’s a new message and another picture.”

The picture was also a people shot, but there was only one person in it. And she wasn’t the woman with the green purse and pink shoes.

She was Carla. Bruised and unconscious, her body folded at the waist, her wrists tied together. Her eyes, half lidded and seemingly pleading, aimed at the camera.

A car door slammed outside. Simon and Caleb leapt from the couch at the same time and hurried to the foyer window.