Page 46 of The Sea Witch’s Son (The Villains of Wolf Hollow #1)

Chapter 45

MELODY

It’s a grave.

I was trying to dig up a grave.

The realization has me stumbling back from the youthful handwriting, desperate to put some space between me and whoever lies beneath the ground.

Clutching my chest, I stare at the pile of dirt illuminated by my flashlight. It feels disrespectful to shine a light on someone’s resting place, but the thought of being stuck here in the dark feels much worse.

And if the name on the grave is anything to go by, then here must be...

I whip my head back towards the shore. The waves continue their peaceful rocking, but this time I look away from the breathtaking view .

Flickering garden lights line the Seaborn property, casting waves of shadows over the looming structure built along the beach.

Rising three stories in the air, the mansion spans the entirety of the shoreline. Majestic columns erupt from the ground, their pristine colour covered in intricate designs that match the waterfront theme. Vicious sea creatures chase each other through the shadows and over the columns of the house, creating a murder scene on every visible surface.

An old dock floats just a few feet from where I’m standing, a rickety old thing that looks completely out of place compared to the grand structure looming behind it.

Trying not to imagine an octopus slithering out of her lair to hunt me down, I fight back a shiver and look at the cardboard sign again.

Here lies T. Seaborn.

He lived and died a fool.

It’s a harsh message for a tombstone, but I guess if it’s made out of cardboard you can’t expect much. Strange the plot doesn’t look big enough to hold a person.

It barely looks big enough to hold the rest of that file.

It is said there is a grave that holds all the answers, but to get to it one must cross the Sea Witch’s cave.

Anton’s voice rings through my head, driving my curiosity to the point of insanity. I’m staring at the plastic triangle sticking out of the ground, thinking about all the answers that could be buried here .

There has to be answers here.

Before I can think about what I’m doing, I drop to my knees and start digging.

My hands are shaking as I break through the earth, sending bugs and critters scurrying in every direction. The darkness of the night sweeps over me like a blanket, forcing me to rely on the tiny beam streaming from my phone.

Dirt and grime cover my hands as I wiggle and pry the plastic folder out of the ground.

It’s the type of duo tang a child would use. Bright and colourful, a pair of dolphins splash and play together with big fake smiles painted on their cartoon faces.

Unease ripples through me as I open it up. A single piece of paper resides inside, the years of neglect reducing its texture to an onion peel. The transparency of the sheet makes it almost impossible to make out the words written on the page.

Turning my phone over, I shine the flashlight through the back. Smeared ink seeps through, offering what looks to be some sort of doctor’s report.

Patient Name: Tristan Seaborn

Time of Death: 2:15 AM

Cause of Death: Post-Immersion Syndrome

I squint, trying to make out the doctor’s handwriting. The date of the entry is completely destroyed, but I manage to find a semi-decent recount at the bottom of the page.

When questioned about the whereabouts of his mother, the patient shrugged and offered no explanation. Records say he called the ambulance himself and the medics found him collapsed by the front door. CPR was administered immediately, but the patient soon went into cardiac arrest. A defibrillator was brought to the scene, and after three rounds of...

I’m left staring at smeared ink that holds no conclusion.

I read the report again, searching for something, anything that would tie this person to Marlin or his father. The same blotches appear the second time round, the faded print offering no more information than it did the first time.

“Fuck.” Blowing out a breath, I sit back on my heels.

Even the ghosts in Wolf Hollow can’t give me a straight answer.

Rubbing my eyes in frustration, I look at the report one last time. It’s the same shit as before and I understand just as little as before.

Hell, I don’t even know what post-immersion syndrome is.

Pulling out my phone, I type in the cause of death and wait for the search engine to load.

Post-immersion syndrome is commonly known as secondary drowning or dry drowning. It occurs when the muscles around the larynx spasm hours after water gets trapped inside the lungs. Can be fatal if not treated immediately.

I frown, staring at the words that suddenly sound too familiar.

Did you really think I would have gone to all that trouble just to let you suffocate in your sleep? That would have been a terrible waste of effort on my end .

No. That can’t be right.

Marlin was being a pain in the ass that night. He was being his usual arrogant self, refusing to get out of my bed. I was tired and frustrated because Finley had-

Oh, my God.

“He knew what would happen.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from crying, “That's why he slept beside me the whole night.”

Tristan Seaborn died because nobody cared enough to look after him.

He went into cardiac arrest because nobody held him through the night, making sure air flowed through his water-logged lungs.

When questioned about the whereabouts of his mother, the patient shrugged and offered no explanation.

My heart splits right down the middle when I think about the man who slid into my bed hours after he pulled me out of the water. The man who kept a hand pressed against my stomach, making sure it rose and fell with each breath.

He was trying to save me from the same fate.

He was trying to save me from his fate.

And all I could say was go home.

I can’t. Not until I know you will make it through the night.