The Drifter by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page B

stranger—and there had been one dull blow—and at first he probably hadn’t even realized what was happening as he lost his hold on the rocks … as he slipped back into the churning waves for the last time.…
    Carolyn opened her eyes. There were tears on her cheeks, and she wiped them away. What’s the matter with you — you are so pathetic!
    She began walking farther along the cliffs, trying to peer into the shadows and hidden places far below. Andy had said that nobody ever came out to this end of the island, and now she could certainly understand why.
    â€œNo self-respecting ghost would be caught dead in a gloomy place like this,” Carolyn whispered to herself, and laughed softly at her own joke.
    Then suddenly she saw him.
    And at first she tried to tell herself it was just a trick of the light—some feeble ray of sunshine reflecting off the dull sheen of the sea, wavering ghostlike among the misshapen rocks and chunks of driftwood scattered across the sand.…
    Carolyn blinked her eyes and squinted, trying to focus in on the silent, distant figure in the shadows.
    She’d seen it once before.
    Outside the window, and only last evening …
    Her breath caught in her throat. A slow, icy chill crept through her, and her heart hammered out of control.
    You’re imagining things again! There’s no one there!
    Yet every nerve screamed inside her, every instinct told her to turn, to run, as hidden eyes— human eyes —watched her from below.
    â€œNo,” Carolyn whispered to herself, and then louder, “ No! ” and she did turn then, and she ran, away from the cliffs where the invisible eyes couldn’t follow. She ran faster, and she kept looking back over her shoulder, but there was nobody there— nothing! —only the desolate cliffs and the hazy sky and the mournful call of the sea.
    She pounded up the front steps and into the house, slamming the door behind her. And then she leaned against it and shut her eyes, her whole body shaking with deep, ragged breaths.
    She didn’t notice the movement in the corner.
    Didn’t realize anything was even wrong until the tall shadow pulled itself from the gloom and moved noiselessly toward her across the floor.
    Carolyn saw his stare—the gleam of his eyes—but she couldn’t scream, couldn’t even move, as his hand lifted slowly to her arm.
    His touch was as cold as ice.
    As cold as death itself.
    â€œI need a room,” the stranger said softly. “I’ll be staying awhile.”

8

    C AROLYN KNEW HER MOUTH WAS OPEN — COULD FEEL THE scream lodged there at the back of her throat—but she couldn’t seem to do anything—move, breathe—or even answer. Instead every sense was focused in sharply on the tall, dark-haired stranger standing before her.
    His shoulders were broad, his body lean but well-built. He wore a sleeveless vest with no shirt underneath, and there was a skull tattooed over one tanned bicep. A tiny gold hoop hung from his left ear. His jeans were tight, his hair long and wavy, and dark brows drew low over the blackest, most piercing eyes Carolyn had ever seen.
    In some remote part of her brain she felt the front door pushing against her. The next second, it shoved her forward and Mrs. Baxter stumbled into the room, catching her balance as she glanced from Carolyn to the young man and back again.
    â€œHello,” she said pleasantly. “Carolyn, why on earth didn’t you help with the door—didn’t you hear me yelling?”
    Carolyn simply stared.
    â€œMom—” she said hoarsely, but Mrs. Baxter was already shrugging out of her jacket, unwinding the scarf from her head. She walked over and took the stranger’s hand, pumping it warmly.
    â€œHi there, I’m Merriam Baxter—we just moved in. My goodness, you’re freezing! Come over here by the fire and get warm—Carolyn, honey, you’ll never