August Unknown Read online

  Danger lurks in a past she can’t remember...

  She doesn’t know what happened the night of the storm, why she was walking along the highway without ID, or why she has a fading tan line on her wedding ring finger, but a dark and terrifying presence haunts the edge of her memory. Before she can start a new life with the wonderful man who came to her rescue, she must remember what in her past might take her away from him.

  Heartache lies in a past he can’t forget...

  Blaming himself for his late wife’s death, Geoffrey Barthlow has only begun to scrape together the pieces of his shattered life. When Jane Doe “August” falls into his world, he sees the opportunity to help her as a chance to heal his own soul. But as he finds himself falling for the beautiful mystery woman, he knows his heart is once again at risk; she has another life somewhere that she will eventually remember.

  To the real Jeffrey in my life; proofreader extraordinaire and all around super fungi.

  Copyright © 2013 Pamela Fryer

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-0615714950

  ISBN-10: 0615714951

  Imprint by Rusty Spur Publishing

  Edited by Faith Williams, The Atwater Group

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and occurrences are products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual incidents is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, Pamela Fryer.

  From the author:

  When I originally wrote this foreword, I had just received back edits from my mother, an experienced sailor who fact-checked my boating references. The honeymoon sailing trip mentioned in this book was one she and my father took on their 95-foot ketch Sea Venture. I sent her the whole manuscript, but she only read the parts I’d marked for her. She returned it with a note saying she couldn’t wait to read the whole book when it came out in print. Sadly, she never got the chance, as she passed away shortly before August Unknown’s release. I’d like to take this opportunity to recognize her contribution. I miss you, Mom!

  Now on to the nitty-gritty. For those of you familiar with Newport, Oregon, I ask that you suspend your disbelief just a teeny bit. While I conducted extensive research on the beautiful town, I have changed the names of streets, hospitals, and shops for fiction’s sake. The house with the view of Yaquina Head in which the Barthlow family lives is real. I stumbled upon it on a real estate website and fell in love. In fact, the house is part of what inspired this story. As a born and raised California girl, there is something mysterious about the rocky Western coastline that enthralls me, and I find lighthouses, with their noble and haunting purpose, absolutely spellbinding. I couldn’t help but wonder what might happen in a sleepy little coastal town on a stormy night after the power goes out, when two wounded souls find each other in the dark...

  Chapter One

  The ocean roared in her ears. Waves crashed over her head from all sides, stinging her eyes and choking her with mouthful after mouthful of salty water.

  Numbing cold dulled her senses. She fought against the water pulling her down, but struggling only made it worse. In the darkness, she couldn’t tell which way was up.

  She strained to make out the flashes of light rushing across her vision. A buoy? A lighthouse? Deep rumbling followed. It was lightning, and dangerously close. A sudden pummeling of rain smacked the water around her like an eruption of stadium applause.

  “Help me!”

  She was hurt. The sharp stinging at her hairline burned more intensely with each wave that swept over her aching head. Lightning flashed again, brighter and longer this time, revealing the depth of the empty darkness surrounding her.

  “Help. Somebody, please.”

  She closed her eyes to squeeze out the salty burn. She stopped fighting, letting the ferocious pull of the sea drag her under as she clung to the hope her lifejacket would bring her up again.

  The sharp pain in her head receded to a dull thump. She was being battered by the pounding surge of the ocean, but the roar in her ears had faded. It almost seemed they were filled with cotton.

  Hypothermia. The idea was terrifying, and...not so bad.

  She closed her mouth against the bitter salty water, no longer calling out. She didn’t know who she was calling to. The icy harshness of her surroundings drifted away and soft, velvety black draped over her awareness.

  Her feet hit something. Before she realized what had happened, the surge tossed her onto a rock-hard beach. Her arm twisted painfully under her body. She felt as though she’d plunged from a third-story window.

  A wave followed, crashing over her with ruthless force. Gravel churned around her as she was pushed farther out of the ocean’s grip.

  Her body weighed a ton, but the relief was intense. She lay there, gasping out silent thanks, floating at the edge of nothingness.

  Another wave crashed over her, jarring her awake. Darkness surrounded her. It was night, and still storming. As awareness clawed its way back, she became aware of fat raindrops hitting her.

  She forced brittle arms to push herself upright. Pain throbbed in her icy, numb fingers as she fumbled with the clips on her lifejacket. When it finally came free, she dropped it behind her and looked around.

  There were buildings in the inky distance. She squinted through the rain. Not a single light shone, but a strange glow in the clouds bathed the beach in a surreal luminosity.

  What is this, an abandoned compound of some sort?

  She struggled to stand, only to collapse on her hands and knees again. The beach was rough, mostly stones and coarse sand. Pebbles stuck to her palms.

  A wave of nausea struck, and mouthfuls of ocean came up, salty and bitter with bile. She heaved again and again until all that remained in her stomach was gnawing emptiness.

  She stood and wobbled precariously, but this time remained on her feet. She trembled uncontrollably, and each impossible step jarred her battered body. Her bones felt like toothpicks about to snap. She was so weak the gusting wind made her stagger back a step.

  The shapes on the horizon were fuzzy, but she was too tired to focus. She just had to get there, that was all she knew.

  Shelter. Warmth. Safety.

  What had a moment ago been fat raindrops suddenly turned to torrential sheets of sharp, icy slivers, knifing into the top of her tender head. Lancing pain came alive again, strangely familiar, but she couldn’t remember what caused it.

  In the back of her mind, she suspected she was in a ghost town, headed for ramshackle buildings, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of this rain and the chilling wind. She wanted to close her eyes so badly, to sleep, just for a little while. Sleep.

  * * *

  Jocelyn grew bored with the remote control to the compact disc changer and turned off the music.

  “Why does Grandma live at the Mirthful Mermaid?”

  Geoffrey Barthlow maneuvered his BMW carefully along the dark road. As they traveled down the coastal highway from the summer house, the power had winked out, making the town below literally vanish before their eyes. He’d never been on the ocean road in darkness like this. Even with fog lamps and his high beams, the driving rain made it nearly impossible to see. It sounded like gravel hitting the car.

  “The restaurant is her home,” he answered as he slowed to negotiate a curve. “She’s lived there for thirty-five years.” Gusts of wind pounded them, but the car held the road beautifully.

  “That’s five times as old as me.”

  “You’re right.”

  His niece was such a precocious child. He loved spending time with her. His si
ster accused him of spoiling Jocelyn, but with no kids of his own and none in the foreseeable future, he did it with gusto, and refused to be made feel guilty for it.

  “Grandpa says it’s a dive.”

  Geoffrey laughed. Actually, his father called it much worse, but never to Jocelyn’s ears. As the founder and CEO of one of the top-ten most successful hotel chains in the country, his father hated being reminded of his humble roots almost as much as Gran Millie hated being reminded she wasn’t Jocelyn’s grandmother, but great-grandmother.

  “This is cool. It looks like The Fog.” Jocelyn stretched up taller in her seat to peer out the passenger window.

  Thick, charcoal darkness like Geoffrey had never seen blocked out the ocean. It seemed the storm sat directly on the surface of the water. At the edge of the road, the world disappeared.

  “I have to stop letting you watch those horror movies.”

  “Why?” She looked at him, bewilderment filling her pixie face. “I’m not scared.”

  Geoffrey thought back to the costume she’d fashioned last year for Halloween. She’d traded two Miley Cyrus CDs for an old Girl Scout’s uniform. Without help from anyone, Jocelyn had then used red dye and craft putty to make herself into a dead Girl Scout. His sister had been horrified.

  “Your mother is still mad at me for letting you watch The Bludgeoning. She wasn’t happy about that Halloween costume.” He could only imagine what she’d come up with this year.

  “It was just a joke,” Jocelyn said, twisting to peer out the window again. “Grown-ups are so serious all the time.”

  “Well, don’t tell her, but I liked it.”

  She flashed him that magical smile that reminded him life was beautiful. “You rock, Uncle G.” Her expression dimmed. “Do you think my mom and dad will be divorced by Christmas?”

  She surprised him with that one, completely out of the blue. At the same time, he’d known she would ask something like that, sooner or later.

  He slowed the car for another sharp bend and considered his answer. “Your parents are just working out some issues.” As soon as he’d said it, he regretted it. Working out some issues? Jocelyn was seven; she wasn’t stupid.

  “They’re separated. Amy Knoeller said that’s just what they call it before the divorce becomes legal.” Jocelyn settled in the deep leather seat and stared at her shoes. “Her parents are divorced. She has to live in two different houses.”

  “Your parents are not getting a divorce,” Geoffrey said firmly, even as he wondered himself. Leah and Marc would work things out; they had to.

  This whole family can’t be unlucky in love, could we? Does the Barthlow curse plague us all?

  “Are you ever gonna get married again, Uncle Geoffrey?”

  Like a flash of lightning, the painful memories he’d worked so hard to bury came alive again, as bright and clear as if the accident that killed Christina happened only yesterday. A vision appeared in front of him, fuzzy in the sheeting rain, a ghost haunting the highway that had killed her.

  The specter of death stared back at him, shadowed, frightened eyes caught in the ghostly glare of his headlights. Christina.

  Jocelyn’s ear-piercing scream filled the car, bouncing off the glass to pummel him from all directions. Too late, Geoffrey realized this was not the ghost of his dead wife, but another mysterious figure in white, very much alive.

  And he was about to run her down.

  Chapter Two

  Geoffrey’s heart surged into his throat and stuck there. He swerved and hit the brakes. The BMW slid sideways, and then fishtailed. A sickening thump filled the car and Jocelyn screamed again. They careened across the road, and then back to the right side and through a thick clump of salt grass before crashing against a wooden sand rail. Both air bags deployed, and immediately deflated.

  A stomach-turning moment of confusion passed where nothing seemed real, as though what had just happened was part of a bad dream. Geoffrey released his seatbelt and turned toward his niece. Jocelyn had a bloody nose.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes were wide with horror. “We hit a girl.”

  Geoffrey turned off the engine and looked out the back window. With the front end pitched downhill, all he could see was black sky.

  “Stay here.” He opened the door. His senses came back to life as the shrieking storm slapped him in the face, cold and furious.

  “Uncle Geoffrey—”

  He paused. The howling wind drove needle-like slivers of icy rain into the side of his face. “It’ll be okay.” Sickening déjà vu turned his insides to liquid.

  He ran up the sandy incline to the asphalt. A glimpse of white in the salt grass on the other side of the road was gruesome proof this wasn’t a waking nightmare, but horribly real.

  The whump of the passenger door closing registered dimly.

  “Jocelyn, stay back.”

  Jocelyn climbed over the ruined fence and stopped by the corner of the car. Silhouetted by the red glow of the taillights, she looked like a phantom.

  “Is she dead?”

  “Stay there!”

  Geoffrey held his breath, praying for movement where the body lay on the sandy shoulder. Beyond the dunes, the town was still invisible. For all he knew, it had vanished. The night had turned terrifyingly unreal.

  The woman lay crumpled on her side, her face hidden under a mass of long, wet hair. One arm protruded from beneath her body, the fingers of her limp hand slightly curled. Her delicate wrist was exposed where her blue and white striped sweater had inched up her arm. Blood spattered the band of white.

  Geoffrey knelt and felt for a pulse. Her skin was so cold that for a horrifying moment he thought she was dead. Then he found it: a dull throb, weak, but steady. He held his breath, making sure.

  She wore white jeans and white sneakers. The reflective clothing had saved her life.

  Jocelyn lingered near the car, gripping her hands together in front of her heart. Already the rain had soaked her. Strangely, Geoffrey didn’t feel cold or wet himself.

  His hand went to his hip. His phone’s holster wasn’t there. He’d dropped it in the center console when he’d gotten in the car.

  “Get my phone from the car,” he shouted through the wind. Without a word, Jocelyn disappeared around the passenger side.

  He brushed the hair from the woman’s face. Dirt and blood matted a nasty gash at her hairline. Driving raindrops hit her, making the blood dance grotesquely. His stomach flip-flopped. Geoffrey swallowed back a suddenly watery mouth.

  Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned.

  “It’s all right. You’re going to be all right,” he said in a shaking voice. It felt like a lie.

  She gave no indication she heard.

  “The battery is dead!” Jocelyn’s thin voice carried back through the storm.

  What else could go wrong? Geoffrey knew he shouldn’t move her, but he couldn’t leave her lying in the sand. As gently as he could, he turned her onto her back and hefted her into his arms. The movement caused her to cry out.

  He saw her face for the first time as her long hair fell away. Her lips parted, so pale they were nearly blue. Long, dark lashes, wet and clumped, fanned across deathly pale skin.

  “Open the back door,” he told Jocelyn. She raced around the car and pulled it open.

  “Is she gonna be okay? Uncle G?”

  “Yes,” he said in a firm voice, trying to convince himself as much as Jocelyn. He slid the woman across the back seat and secured her with the center belt. “We need to take her to the hospital. I want you to ride in back with her. Can you do that?”

  “Uh huh.” Jocelyn slipped into the seat by the woman’s feet and secured her own seatbelt without being reminded.

  For a frightening moment the car stuck in the sand, its tires spinning uselessly. Then they caught and the BMW shot backward onto the blacktop. One headlight had been smashed on the fence.

  He drove faster than he should along the dark road, wo
rried by every second that ticked by. Numbness fought to take hold, pulling him back into that nightmarish, alternate reality.

  “How are you doing, Lyn-Lyn? You okay, sugar plum?” He didn’t dare take his eyes from the road to glance in the rearview mirror. He could sense Jocelyn leaning forward, her damp golden hair shining in his peripheral vision like the last ray of hope on this God-forsaken night.

  “’kay,” came the shaky reply.

  “How’s your nose? Are you still bleeding?”

  “My nose is bleeding?”

  The wind threw a gigantic palm frond into the side of the car.

  “What was that?” Jocelyn wailed.

  “Nothing, honey, just a branch. We’re almost there.” With only one headlight, the night was impossibly dark, and Geoffrey had trouble focusing. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing the white-clad figure mixing hellishly with visions of his past.

  Once inside the city limits, they were no longer the last people on earth. The hunched shape he recognized as Russ Pearson from the library ran along the sidewalk, collar pulled up around his ears. As they raced past Newell Street, he glimpsed the flashing red and blue lights of a police car at the end of the street.

  All the traffic lights were out. The danger of driving through blackened intersections at this speed was not lost on Geoffrey, but he had only minutes to save her.

  I won’t let you die, Christina.

  Panic welled in his chest until he wanted to shout and pound the steering wheel with his fist.

  A gust of wind buffeted the car. Geoffrey tightened his grip on the wheel, fighting to keep the BMW in his own lane. Finally, the glowing red sign of Pacific Communities Hospital Emergency loomed in the darkness, a reassuring beacon in an otherwise deathly-dark town. The building was dimly lit, running on emergency generators, but even those pale lights were intensely comforting.

  Geoffrey hit the horn twice before he jumped out and ran to the emergency call button outside the door. Jocelyn slipped out of the back seat just as two orderlies ran out with a stretcher, followed by Dr. Carlson.