Page 6

P ebbles and splintered seashells crunched beneath my feet as I hopped on my cruiser and biked away from Grad Night.

Bits caught on my tire’s rubber spikes as I pedaled along the trail that lay sandwiched between the old rail line, just beyond the Boardwalk’s reach.

Using the chirp of the insects as my instrumentals and the click of the gears as my beat, I hummed a tune from a night that already felt so distant, as if the entire evening had been one out-of-body experience.

My knuckles strained against the handlebars, and for a second I imagined Javi’s resting there, too.

I replayed our goodbye from fifteen minutes ago: his fingers threading between mine, his lips brushing my cheek, his happy birthday whisper in my ear…

I released a slow breath, but it did nothing to ease the tension in my chest.

To be honest, it was totally unclear what I should do about this divergence from our friendship, which felt as off the rails as the uprooted train tracks I passed.

Our future stopped in August when he blossomed, and I remained.

We had less than two months left before he’d split for SB.

I didn’t want to sabotage it.

At least I wasn’t alone in being tortured by this.

Judging by the glint in his eyes, the crumple of his forehead, the way his shoulders sagged when I declined his invite to walk me home…

he definitely felt it, too.

The question remained: should we say goodbye, or should we give in to this—whatever this was?

My sigh clouded in front of me, mixing with the damp thickets of fog.

It ushered the earth behind its misty curtain, devouring the streetlights and singing crickets.

Soon the wimpy glow from my front basket’s headlamp was the only shine left to indicate if I hurtled towards home or off a cliff.

Pretty standard for a late-night trek near the sea, but tonight it was suffocating, like slogging through quicksand.

I hopped off my cruiser, towing it next to me as I waded through the sphere of gray.

Its tendrils were as thick as a wall, hardly parting for my legs, devouring my footsteps.

A shiver rippled down my spine.

Up ahead, an oblique shape parted the fog.

I concentrated on its outline while my light bounced off its surface, and a rectangle that was placed vertically solidified out of the haze.

Peeled black-and-red paint, the only imprints left of an old warning sign, came into focus, the words Stop!

Turn Back! No Foot Path!

popping against the grain.

The San Lorenzo River truss had been out of commission for years.

It had been a popular crossing for the east and west sides of town until the decayed floorboards and exposed metal hinges forced its shutdown.

Rumors that the ousted members of an old blood-drinking cult that was prevalent here in the eighties shuffled across the planks, waiting for fresh meat like a horde of zombies, didn’t make it sound any less sketchy.

But I needed a straight shot home, and this saved me about twenty minutes.

Plus, I’d taken it plenty of times before, just not in the middle of the night.

Not when the fog was this thick.

Not when my anxiety made me mistake the swirls for more sinister things—nope.

I swallowed the fear that lodged in my throat and stepped onto the corroded platform.

The outline of its steel frames arched like the roof of a chapel, nails so big they looked like scarab beetles crawling up and down the pillars.

Avoiding all the sharp ledges and eroded strips of wood became a twisted game.

My bike thumped alongside me, dragging along the wet lumber, growing heavier with every push.

Something stirred ahead—or was it the dampness I cut through, creasing and drawing back in again?

I slowed to a halt and listened while the moisture clung to my body.

Armed with nothing but my flickering LED bike lamp and cell phone, I held down the flashlight button until it turned on and shone towards the nearest support beam.

A hermit crab skittered out of sight.

I swore, hoping that damn crustacean would be my first and last encounter on this trestle.

One by one, my hairs stood on end as the fog grew more restless—I swore it whispered my name—swore it cackled in my ear, and beckoned me deeper, and tricked me into thinking I was seeing things.

My muscles tightened, bracing for the onslaught of Voices.

But none of the sounds or shapes or smells manifested into a version that hijacked my brain.

None of the Voices rose out of the evening acoustics to haunt me.

Which might’ve been weird, but frankly, I was too drained to care where they were.

Then a shadow a shade darker than the rest of the trestle dropped from overhead.

It cut the mist like a knife, emerging a few tracks away, with a stillness that asserted predator versus prey.

I think my heart completely stopped before stuttering back to life at double time.

I swore to God if it was Chet, I might push him off.

My fingers tingled with adrenaline.

“Who’s there?” It was as guttural as I could make it.

Which wasn’t saying much.

Ugh, and my voice cracked.

Unaffected by my bark, the human form inched closer, drifting rather seamlessly, as if they floated on the wind—as if they commanded the vapor that flapped at their sides and used it to drive them forward.

Not the grace I expected from a drunk water polo behemoth—but still.

“Don’t come near me!” Improvising, I flung my cruiser to the ground, just killing the calm game.

It landed horizontally between us, forming a barricade.

They stopped at the edge of my bike frame.

A black combat boot appeared and struck a spinning spoke, putting an end to the click click it made.

What would they silence next?

My beating heart?

I shoved my phone at the figure, and they pulled back their hood, revealing an angular face hardly touched by the summer sun, with the most striking hazel eyes I had ever seen.

A guy. A guy about my age.

Well… that was certainly a surprise.

Green dominated his light brown irises, with specks of gold so pure they belonged in a pan sifter’s dish.

He observed me, brow furrowed behind tufts of black or brown hair—hard to tell in the dark, even with my flashlight shining in his face—as if in an attempt to hide any emotion.

His lips curled up, angling ivory cheekbones into a menacing grin.

Like he was detecting if I was the threat.

Me. The one at least a solid foot and a half shorter than him.

In a concerted effort to look intimidating as hell, I held my head higher and willed my facial features to set into a shield of indifference—while he stood with the coiled tension of a mountain lion before it unleashes itself.

“What are you doing here?” He spoke in a cold, hard tone with a subtle lilt to his R’s.

I opened my mouth but reconsidered my response—I was feeling ballsy.

So, instead of condemning myself right off the bat, I decided to do some digging of my own.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“This trestle’s off-limits.” The silver cross that hung from his ear dangled with the tilt of his chin, as his gaze swept me up and down in one long, fluid movement.

A wave of heat erupted through me, following the path of his stare.

I took a step closer to my bike—closer to him—hoping the brisk air would cool the sudden fever.

“Yet here we are, both trespassing. What’s your excuse?”

It wasn’t too dark for me to catch his sneer.

“I was looking for something.”

“Pretty odd place to search in the middle of the night. Don’t you think?”

He shrugged.

“Well, did you find it?” I pressed.

“I think so.” His gaze didn’t waver, whether due to my lopsided flower crown or his own curiousness.

Even as I neared the middle of my bike, still lying on its side, parallel to my feet, his eyes bored into me, dead center.

“The fog, did it lead you out this way?”

“Believe it or not most people try and do the opposite and avoid places totally hidden by thick layers of fog.” I paused and crossed my arms, all a show of indifference, because my mind was racing as fast as my heart.

“But it’s a good shortcut…” I trailed off, as my light landed on a lump protruding from behind his shoulder.

A backpack, obviously.

One that blended like stitches into his all-black ensemble, with a tufted top.

The warmth flooding me moments ago completely left my body.

That wasn’t a backpack.

It was a quiver. Packed with arrows.

Being armed with pepper spray was one thing.

Waltzing around Santa Cruz with archery equipment?

Excessive. What was he going to do, shoot a misbehaving starfish?

Every fiber in my being urged me to turn around.

I should have done it.

Right then and there, I should have picked up my bike and gone.

But I was curious about his venom, whether it actually stung, so I stayed and buried the doubt.

“Were you at Grad Night?”

“Why?” No emotion.

Not even a flicker. Did he ever blink?

I motioned to his arrows.

“Your gear, it looks like part of a costume.”

“Oh, these.” He rotated the onyx quiver so it splayed across his chest. Intricate silvery-white patterns swirled up the sides, like they’d been threaded out of moonlight.

With a tilt of his head, he admired his props, revealing a similar motif inked beneath his low, open collar, snaking on the flesh right over the bone.

“Let me guess, new age Oberon?” I said it like there was no other answer, because dressing as a character from Shakespeare was the only rational explanation as to why he was walking around with hunting weapons.

Smirking, he gave a slow bat of his lashes, as if he read my mind and wanted to throw those concerns back in my face.

“Ryder.”

“I don’t know that Shakespeare character.”

His voice remained flat.

“It’s my name.”

“Oh. Well, Ryder, do you go to school around here?” If he did, there was no way it was mine.

I obviously didn’t know all nine hundred-ish kids there, but a guy like him, he’d never skate by unmissed.

Especially if this wasn’t a costume, and I was starting to think it might not be.

He smirked again, the prominent freckle on his cheek lost to his extended dimple.

“No.”

So—he wasn’t at Grad Night.

He wasn’t in costume.

And he didn’t go to school around here.

The thunderous roar of the ocean crashing onto the beach wasn’t loud enough to mask the awkwardness.

Salt drifted in the air and mixed with the mist. I licked it from my lips.

“You know…the polite thing to do would be to ask what my name is.” My eyes darted to my bike, the small talk a distraction while I gauged how difficult it would be to rip it out from under his treaded shoe, hop on, and split.

“I know all I need to about you.” He wiped a drop of condensation off the sleeve of his leather jacket.

It interested him way more than talking to me.

Well, good. I didn’t care about him or his stupid weapons, either.

“So, you’re a psychic, too. You should meet my friend at the Boardwalk.” At this point I’d say anything to avoid the silence.

Why was I even still there?

“Yeah, she’s a dear old thing. Bit of a wild card. You’d love her.”

I bent to get my cruiser, huffing to myself while I jerked it off the ground, concentrating on Ryder’s boot and how it wouldn’t even move —when my foot got stuck in the chain and I completely toppled as I tried to stand.

The whole bridge shook under my clumsy ass.

One of Ryder’s calloused palms grasped mine, and the other the handlebars, and in an effortless lift, he pulled me upright.

Tarnished rings stamped into my hand, and tattooed fingers left traces of heat on my skin.

It thawed the chill that’d overtaken my bones and stayed long after I retracted from his grip.

My nostrils flared at a sharp, woody smell, reminiscent of pine.

“Thanks.” I denied myself a smile, though one diffused below the surface.

His mouth twitched. Close enough to a response.

Sitting on my bike, I craned my neck to meet his face.

Another flicker of those golden-green eyes and I felt dizzy enough to whip out my kickstand.

The unshakeable depth of his stare was like peering into the latticed canopy of a redwood grove.

It gave me a mild form of vertigo, but I didn’t want to look away.

My motor skills sputtered as I tried to kick off.

I swerved, getting nowhere, but I at least landed on my feet.

For no other reason than my worthless curiosity, I decided to ask, “What were you looking for, by the way?”

He paused on his answer, as if picking the right words.

“The path to the river.”

I pushed off, gesturing behind me.

“There’s a flat one at the other end of the trestle. It’s basically connected to the sidewalk. You can’t miss it…”

As I shakily biked away, I swore I heard a heady flapping on the wind.