You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 10


Pissed at the world in general and Wyatt specifically, Ava stormed outside where the salty breath of winter rolled in from the sea. The argument still filling her mind, she passed lacy ferns and broad-leafed hostas that huddled in the shade as she followed the winding, overgrown stone path that cut through the garden.

She just needed to do something, anything to get her life back on track. Set to walk off her frustrations on her way into town, she noticed the horses grazing near the fence line and came up with a better plan.

As a kid, she’d loved riding her favorite mare at a full gallop across the dew-dampened fields and into the dark woods surrounding the estate. She’d spent hours following the old deer and sheep trails that snaked through the woods and along the coastline, exploring every inch of the island, even getting to know those places her parents had declared “forbidden.” Despite her mother’s warnings, she’d followed her favorite paths that took her past the dungeon-like walls of the old asylum and upward along the cliffs that fell hundreds of feet to the roiling surf that crashed against the shore. There were old cabins, a waterfall, the rock quarry with its mines, and other just as taboo spots.

Ava had made a point of visiting them all.

She passed through a gate and across the twin ruts of an access road to the fence line where the horses were grazing. Whistling, she caught the attention of Jasper, a bald-faced bay gelding. The horse lifted his head, flicked his dark ears, and snorted.

“Come on,” Ava urged, wondering why all the males in her life were so obstinate. “It’ll be fun. Promise.” Slowly, as if it pained him, the gelding approached.

“About time,” she whispered, and reached over the fence to rub the bay’s forehead. Jasper snorted, his breath warm as it clouded in the cool afternoon air. “I missed you, too. Come on, let’s go for a ride.”

For once, Jasper didn’t put up any resistance and followed Ava into the stable. Minutes later, she’d thrown a faded blanket and a saddle over his back, cinched the girth tight, and slid the bridle over his head.

Within minutes, she’d swung herself onto his back and guided him outside. She glanced at the house once and spied Simon working in the garden, and when he lifted his head to look in her direction, she quickly urged the horse away from the fence line. The fewer people who saw her, the less she would have to explain, and she was sick and tired of explaining her every movement. Besides, she didn’t know much about Simon, just that he and Khloe had a tumultuous, if passionate, marriage, and that at one time he’d worked in communications in the army.

Once through a final gate, she took the gelding into the open field again, leaning forward over his sleek neck. “Let’s see what you’ve got, old guy,” she encouraged, and urged Jasper into a canter.

Immediately the horse’s gait lengthened into a smooth lope, his hooves digging into the wet grass, propelling them past thickets of hemlock and fir that soared high enough that their tops were lost in the low-hanging clouds.

Faster and faster the gelding ran, until the countryside was a blur, the cold air rushing past, tangling her hair.

A bubble of laughter rose in her throat. How long had it been since she felt so free? So exhilarated? God, it seemed like forever! At the creek that cut a jagged path through the center of the field, Jasper didn’t break stride, just splashed through the flattened banks, spraying muddy water as he ran.

To the south, the abandoned asylum was visible, a concrete and stone fortress that was built on the sheer bluff over the ocean. Weathered iron railings sagged while streaks of rust colored the gray walls in reddish rivulets. Broken windows were boarded over and a flagpole stood tall, a lone sentinel, its rusting chain rattling in the wind.

A shadow crossed the wall walk and for a split second she thought she saw someone atop the thick rock wall and then, in an instant, the image disappeared into the darkening gloom. She shivered. Sea Cliff now seemed an eerie place, one she didn’t want to think about now, not when she’d felt a burst of freedom and happiness for the first time in years.

“No buzz-kills,” she whispered, the words thrown back in her throat from Jasper’s canter and the rising wind. Tugging on the reins, she forced the horse to slow as rain began to fall in earnest. They slipped into the forest of hemlock and fir and walked through the dripping boughs, the smell of the wet earth mingling with the salt air.

She saw Jasper’s steaming breath and felt a chill as the solitude of the island surrounded her. This was a lonely place, cut off from the mainland, but the isolation had never bothered her. In the past it had given her strength and peace of mind. Of course, that was before the tragedies . . .

The path wound ever upward where the trees gave way to a headland with a breathtaking view of the strait. From this point, other islands could be seen, dark peaks jutting out of the ever-shifting waters of this arm of the Pacific.

The last time she’d been here had been the morning after Noah had gone missing. She’d searched every building, every niche in the house, and finally she’d ridden through the woods to this very spot and had looked out to the sea, afraid she’d see his small body in the restless waters. She’d even attempted to climb down the dilapidated stairs that switched back and forth sharply to a bit of beach and dock that hadn’t been used in decades. Her jaw clenched. She’d been so frightened the night Noah had disappeared, so spurred by her need to find him, that she’d attempted to climb down the stairs that night.

The wind had buffeted her, the sea crashing below. She’d held her flashlight tightly in one hand, her other fingers steadying herself on the rickety, wobbling banister.

Slowly, carefully, she’d descended, a litany of prayers tumbling through her mind.

Oh, God, please let me find him.

Please let him be okay . . . please, please, please . . .

“Noah!” she’d yelled, her voice ripped from her throat, the roar of the sea deafening. “Noah!” Then, more quietly, “Oh, baby, please . . . come to Mama . . . please.”

Her hood had flown off, her hair flying in front of her face.

Step by step, she descended the unsteady stairs. One step. Two . . .

At the landing, she’d taken a deep breath, turned, then inched her way down the second short flight. All the while, the old staircase had groaned against her weight.

But she had to go down.

Had to find him.

Where was her baby? Where?

“Noah!!!”

Heart beating with dread, she’d eased onto the third landing, turned a hundred and eighty degrees, then stepped down.

Bam!

Rotting wood splintered.

The damned step collapsed.

Screaming, Ava had pitched forward. Her foot caught in the yawning hole, twisting her ankle.

Frantically she’d scrabbled for the rail.

Her flashlight flew from her hand, spinning, its beam of light spiraling wildly as it tumbled into the darkness.

“Help!” she’d screamed, one foot dangling, her fingers clawing into the unsteady rail, her head nearly to the next landing. “Help!”

Another blast of wind and the staircase shuddered, groaning against the rocky face of the cliff.

With all her strength, she’d clawed her way upright, pulled her foot through the step, and, determined to reach the bottom, to find her boy, had continued down in the darkness, carefully sliding her hands down the rail, feeling her way, unsteady but relentless.

The pain in her ankle had been excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the ache of despair she’d felt as she’d reached the beach, where, of course, there was no trace of her son.

None whatsoever.

She’d spent the rest of that night on the beach, huddled against the cold, crying softly as the surf rushed and pounded and the gods of all that was evil in the world laughed at her.

The next morning, once the storm had died down and the coast guard had found her, she’d caught snatches of phrases that had hounded her ever since.

“Out of her mind, poor thing . . .”

“. . . wonder if she’ll ever be right again . . .”

“. . . imagine . . . a terrible loss . . . she’s strong, but who could survive this . . . ?”

All well meaning. All voiced with more than a hint of concern. All worried as hell.

At the time she’d ignored them. Because at that time, Ava had still fervently believed Noah would be found somewhere on the island. Safe. Scared. But alive.

Over the ensuing hours and days and weeks and months, her hope had dwindled, and now here she was, unsure if she would ever see her son again, at the top of the cliff-side stairs that had been barricaded since that night. The steps still clung to the wall of the island, bleached and faded, in worse shape now than they were two years earlier, the warning sign and surrounding fencing meant to discourage anyone intent on climbing down.

A sharp wind tossed her hair around her face while the rain drizzled steadily and low-hanging clouds obscured the horizon. She squinted to the west, where the strait stretched out to the Pacific. A few small islands barely visible and strung out like the ghostly spines of a giant underwater creature seemed to rise and sink with the ferocity of the tide.

Almost of its own accord, her gaze moved closer to the mouth of the bay, and she felt an involuntary shiver.

Her heart clenched when she thought of her brother and the night that had taken his life.

Dismounting, she let go of the reins, allowing Jasper to pick at the grass, his bridle jangling as he moved. She didn’t know why she’d felt compelled to ride here, to face a distant pain she’d rather forget, to ultimately destroy her fleeting elation, but she had.

She walked to the edge of the cliff where she stared at the mouth of the bay. Her throat tightened. Submerged in the depths beneath the deep water was what locals referred to simply as the Hydra. Invisible to the naked eye on the calm waters, but ever changing beneath a swift current, the neck of the bay was narrow and dangerous to those boat captains who weren’t familiar with the tight channel.

Ava knew only too well about the hazards of the entrance to the bay. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she stared at that long passage, to the spot where the rocks were hidden and part of the jetty had become submerged.

Chilled, she wrapped her arms around herself and in her mind’s eye, she saw the day as it had been then, nearly five years earlier, a day not unlike this gray afternoon—except an unexpected squall had unleashed all its fury upon Kelvin and his most prized possession, a new, sleek sailboat, out for its maiden voyage. . . .