Beach Thriller(88)
Holly’s vision dimmed. She felt woozy, unsteady on her feet. Images began to flash in front of her. The crowd. The commotion. The heat, the flames. Fear and a deep knowing gnawing in the pit of her stomach. And Ethan. It was Ethan, coming out of those flames, covered in soot and sweat. Ethan, into whose arms she had crumpled.
Once again, his arms caught her—the same arms, but almost twenty years older.
Holly leaned against him. “It was you … You were the one who comforted me the night my sister died. My headaches. It was my memories, trying to break through. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Holly steadied herself. Ethan gently released his hold to hit the button on the smoke detector, silencing the alarm. The emergency was over.
He wrapped his arms around her once more, this time tighter, pulling her into a bear hug.
“I didn’t want to say anything that would trigger you. You obviously didn’t recognize me when I came to the house, but I’ve never forgotten you. I’ve carried that night with me—still do. I thought you’d remember eventually, when you were ready.”
He buried his face in her hair. Holly finally let the tears come. She allowed herself to feel everything: the loss, the fear, the deep pain, but also the love. She had lost so much, yet the pain was proof that love made life worth living. She felt it right here, right now, in Ethan’s arms.
Drying her eyes, Holly pulled out of the hug. “I need a glass of water—and a little fresh air.”
They opened the windows, letting in a breeze, the tang of salt air pushing aside the smoky residue.
“At least you know the new smoke detectors work.” Ethan chuckled.
“That’s right, thanks to my handyman, and what—part-time firefighter, who had the foresight to buy a fire extinguisher?” Holly was puzzled.
“Yeah, that’s right. Beauport has an all-volunteer fire department, and I’ve been on it since my twenties. Believe me, plenty of people regret not making that simple purchase. I wasn’t going to let you be one of them. My dad was a firefighter, too, so the lessons are ingrained in my DNA. Which reminds me—one of the reasons I came by tonight was to show you this report.”
Holly took a big swig of water as Ethan removed a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “My friend at the gas company came through. You definitely need to see this.”
Holly opened the paper slowly. What she read chilled her heart.
Right there, in black and white—with no signs of Wite-Out, erasures, or any other changes—the report stated: Markings near valve indicate possibility of tampering.
Chapter 50
Jade
The thirst is killing me.
It’s like the worst itch imaginable, one you can’t scratch. There’s not a drop of moisture in my mouth. My tongue feels thick and swollen, as if it barely fits between my teeth. Every breath scrapes my throat, which is raw, gritty as sandpaper. A headache pounds behind my eyes. I can’t tell whether I’m thirsty or if I have a concussion. A welt has appeared on the side of my head where I hit the doorframe of Conrad’s office as he was carrying me down to this prison.
Dehydration makes my thoughts cloudy. Every move I make feels slow, as if I’m moving through molasses. I try to swallow, but there’s nothing—just my dry scratchy throat, a deep ache in my bones, and the urgent need for water.
Nobody has answered my screams, but that doesn’t keep me from trying.
“Help, somebody. Please … I’m so thirsty,” I say, in what has to be one of the lamest pleas ever uttered. It has all the force of a chirping baby chick. I suck down a breath, letting the fear ratchet up, hoping it’ll fuel my resolve.
I try again, this time with far more authority. “Help! Somebody, please help! I’m locked inside.”
My words echo back to me strangely, low and hollow, bouncing off the stone and the glass bottles, lingering briefly before fading into silence. I don’t know how far the sound travels down here, or if it can reach the main house where Old Sid or Maeve might hear it. Regardless, they may be too old and hard of hearing to notice my desperate cries.
I wait and listen. Silence never sounded so loud.
Conrad. This is all because I found out what he’s been doing to Elizabeth. She’s his prisoner and the police would have arrested him if I had made that call.
I need to sit down. The room is spinning, and so are my thoughts. Would Maeve even help me if she could? There’s no sure answer. It’s quite possible she’s involved in this house of horrors. She must know about Elizabeth, too. Is she protecting her son? That seems likely. Maybe she has been protecting him all along. Does she realize he probably killed Anna? Will she do anything to keep her perfect boy, her great legacy, out of prison, even if it means killing me?
When the answer hits me, I stop calling for help.
Tears fill my eyes. If only I could drink them.
I coach myself like I did in Baby Jail when some of the girls threatened to gut me like a fish, or when my father went into one of his drunken rages that sent my mother cowering in the closet.
You are Jade Jensen. You take no shit. You are a fighter. You are a survivor.
No. You are a crier.
Because that’s what I’m doing, down on the floor, head between my knees—sobbing uncontrollably.
I’ve realized something. There’s a reason nobody has brought me any food, water, or even a blanket to ward off the constant chill. It’s because I’m just like Elizabeth—she’s up there, and I’m down here. Her words and mine could be the same: I don’t matter. And like her, I probably won’t be an inconvenience for much longer.