Page 1 of Once Marked (Riley Paige #19)

Sunrise painted the horizon pink and orange as Linda Morris laced up her running shoes.

A mist over Kitty Hawk beach blurred the edges of her world.

She loved this solitude, a welcome change from her life's meticulous logic and precision as a software engineer in Raleigh’s Research Triangle Park.

In this natural beauty of dawn, she could let her mind drift without the constraints of code and algorithms. This was a precious slice of time carved out for Linda alone, and she cherished it.

She took a deep breath, tasting the salty tang of ocean air, then pushed off into a steady jog along the shoreline.

Each step along the damp sand was a confirmation that taking this vacation with Lucy was the right decision.

They’d both been knee-deep in complex projects, their minds constantly whirring with data and deadlines.

But here, in the early September stillness of the Outer Banks, work felt like a distant memory.

Lucy, her roommate, and a trusted colleague had agreed they needed this break—a chance to recharge before they dived back into the fray.

Though Lucy preferred to indulge in sleep rather than join Linda’s morning excursions, they both enjoyed this brief escape from the hum of computers and the clatter of keyboards.

There was no resentment of Lucy’s absence on these runs, only an acknowledgment of their differences. In fact, running alone allowed Linda moments of introspection that she rarely afforded herself back in Raleigh, moments where the only expectation was the next breath, the next stride.

Their rented beachfront cottage was far behind Linda now, its weathered shingles and wraparound porch a stark contrast to the modern lines and glass of their shared apartment in Raleigh.

Here, in the Outer Banks, the world seemed to breathe more deeply.

An off-season quiet had settled over the landscape.

The beaches were less trodden at this time of year, especially at such an early hour.

The morning mist began to lift as Linda’s feet imprinted each moment in time on the damp sand—footprints that would soon be claimed by the sea.

It was the third day of their seaside vacation, and Linda found herself easily falling into a rhythm with the ebb and flow of the waves.

These solitary runs had become her sanctuary, a space where her mind could wander without walls, free from the confines of code and logic.

The beach stretched out before her, vast and empty, the bordering sea oats swaying gently in the morning breeze.

Seagulls circled overhead, their cries piercing yet oddly harmonious against the steady crash of waves—a natural symphony for an audience of one.

It was moments like these, without the clutter of any other human presence, that allowed Linda to truly breathe, to fully experience the simple act of existing beside the immense body of water that had drawn them here.

Her thoughts drifted to the project that had consumed her days before this vacation.

The complexity of the algorithms she’d been developing was a puzzle she delighted in solving, a challenge that pushed her intellectual boundaries.

It was a curious juxtaposition, this intermingling of her passion for technology and the primal allure of nature.

With the ocean’s vast expanse as her backdrop, she increased her pace, the steady rhythm of her running shoes on the sand syncing with the cadence of the waves.

As the burn in her calves grew more pronounced, she welcomed the sensation.

It was grounding, a physical anchor that tethered her to the present.

The exertion of her morning run finally cleared the lingering stress from Linda’s mind.

The office back in Raleigh, with its incessant buzz of activity, faded like a distant memory in this place where the only sounds were the whisper of the wind and the rhythmic cadence of the ocean.

Now, with the sea stretching out before her, the data points and coding sequences felt weightless, like flotsam on the tide, significant but momentarily set adrift.

As she ran, Linda envisioned possibilities for the rest of the day.

Perhaps they would visit the Wright Brothers National Memorial, standing where history had been made under the wide Carolina blue sky.

Or maybe they’d wind their way down to Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, its spiraling stripes a beacon on the Outer Banks.

But for now, Linda was making no plans, contented to see where the day’s current would take them.

As she rounded a bend in the shoreline, she spotted a curious sight that gave her pause. She squinted, half-convinced that the haze was conjuring illusions.

But no, as improbable as it seemed, there was indeed someone sitting there. It was a figure lounging in a folding chair that was set on the sand. This seemed to be a deviation from the natural order of things—someone seeking the sunlight before it had even fully lighted the day.

Here was an unexpected puzzle. Who would choose to bask in the weak glow of an early morning sun?

The quiet of dawn was not typically breached by beachgoers; this hour belonged to solitary joggers and the song of seabirds.

Linda’s daily runs had never led her toward anything more startling than a washed-up jellyfish or horseshoe crab.

With a pace slowed by intrigue, she approached the figure, each step bringing into focus details that seemed increasingly out of place. It was undeniably a woman, one whose attire was oddly reminiscent of an earlier time. Curiosity burrowed into Linda’s thoughts.

She drew closer, her stride now tentative as she neared the enigmatic sunbather.

The beach lay silent around them, save for the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore.

It was as if she’d stumbled onto a set where time had snagged on a forgotten fashion trend.

This was no mere throwback but a full-fledged plunge into decades past, and Linda couldn’t help but marvel at the boldness of it.

The sunbather’s attire was a vivid splash of retro flair against the drab hues of dawn.

High-cut, belted, the neon pink one-piece was like a siren call from a bygone era, clashing with the natural palette around her.

Linda couldn’t help but think of her mother’s old photo albums, where similar swimsuits were all the rage, immortalized in snapshots of youthful summers before Linda had entered the world.

She could almost hear the vibrant beats of the eighties, a disco soundtrack to the tableau that presented itself.

But beneath the initial amusement, a thread of unease began to weave itself through Linda’s consciousness.

The woman remained absolutely motionless, like a statue paying homage to times long gone.

“Who are you?” Linda murmured under her breath, not expecting an answer but compelled by the mystery. It was odd, yes, but also strangely magnetic. Was she a local character known for her unusual habits, or was there a story behind this anachronism?

She knew Lucy would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, would have concocted wild tales to explain the woman’s presence. But right now, Linda faced the enigma alone, the warmth of shared secrets and camaraderie just out of reach.

Linda slowed to a hesitant walk as she neared the figure on the beach chair. For some reason, her mouth felt as dry as the salt in the air; her breath came out shallow and quick. As she drew nearer, her muscles tensed with apprehension.

The oversized sunglasses, even now concealing the woman’s eyes, seemed too large for the delicate early morning light, and she had short, dark hair that had been cut none too neatly.

She wore a neon pink headband that matched her suit.

It was a costume that demanded attention, yet here it lay unseen except by an audience of one.

Linda wondered if the woman wore it for herself, to recapture a moment lost to time, or if there was another reason entirely for this theatrical display.

“Hello?” Linda said, her voice sounding intrusive in the stillness. There was no reply, no acknowledgement. She stepped closer, her heart rate not entirely due to her earlier exertion. “Excuse me, are you okay?” she tried again, louder this time.

The woman remained motionless, a mannequin of flesh and blood, if indeed she was either at this point.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill air crept up Linda’s spine.

This was not the response of someone enjoying the solitude of an empty beach.

This was silence that filled the space with questions.

The woman’s skin, illuminated by the tentative sunlight, seemed devoid of life’s warm hues. The grayish pallor stood in stark contrast to the vibrant pink swimsuit. Instinctively, Linda scanned for the rise and fall of the woman’s chest, the subtle proof of life she hoped to find.

It wasn’t there. The woman in the chair was completely still; her skin a grotesque shade that no living person should be—it seemed like color had been drained from her, leaving behind a grey shell.

This wasn’t just a solitary beachgoer lost in thought or sleep. There was a finality to the woman’s posture, an eerie permanence that Linda wasn’t sure she wanted to understand.

Linda's thoughts cast about for a rational explanation. Pranks were not uncommon among friends, even coworkers at her company might have indulged in the odd office jest—but this?

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she murmured to herself, though the lack of cameras or snickering onlookers made the theory crumble almost as soon as it formed. Maybe a mannequin from an avant-garde photo shoot was abandoned on the beach? That seemed more plausible, given the dramatic getup.

But no photographer was anywhere in sight. And as Linda stopped beside the lounging woman, the details betrayed the truth: the texture of her skin, her too-still hands resting on the chair arms, and the unnatural angle of her neck.

Realization hit like a gut punch. There was no denying the harsh reality now staring closely at her face.

She could see open eyes behind those oversized sunglasses’ lenses, but no flicker of life behind them.

No, this wasn’t a sunbather who had risen with dawn to greet day.

The vacant beach—once a postcard image of serenity, had been transformed into the backdrop of a nightmare.

A scream pierced the air, Linda’s own—raw and primal. Her voice seemed foreign to her own ears, a stranger’s cry of terror echoing back from dunes and empty expanse of shore. Startled seagulls took flight. Their wings beat the air in a chaotic flurry, their cries adding to the sense of distress.

Linda lurched backward, her balance unsteady as her feet sank into the sand, soft and treacherous beneath her.

She stumbled, arms flailing for purchase in the open air, desperate to escape the grisly scene before her.

But there was nowhere to run from the truth that stared back at her with glassy, unseeing eyes.

The scream left a silence in its wake, filled only by the relentless crush of waves upon the shore.

It was as if nature itself was attempting to cleanse the stain of death.

As the echo of her own terror faded into nothingness, Linda knew with chilling clarity that her peaceful beach vacation was over.