Everleigh blearily pushed open the door at the end of the hall. Strands of dark hair were pulled loose from her ponytail and stuck to her cheeks, which were flushed through with pink. She blinked and shielded her face against the pale light in the hall as if she were a vampire.
“There’s someone in the water,” Beacon said between gasps of breath.
He didn’t wait to see what she would say. He ran down the hall, then thundered down the steps two at a time.
“Beacon, wait!” Everleigh called.
But he didn’t stop.
He careened through the darkened inn to a back door off the kitchen. He unlatched the dead bolt and leaped down the steps into the cold, stormy night.
The rain blew in diagonal sheets, battering the shore. He hadn’t taken the time to put on shoes, and rocks and pebbles dug into his bare feet. He hardly felt it as he ran toward the water. But when he got close, Beacon stopped dead.
The ocean churned like a black sludge vortex. Mountainous waves crashed against the shore like hungry monsters destroying everything in their path. Wind blew a thick, briny mist across his face and soaked through his pajamas.
There was no way Jane could get back on her own.
He had to go in.
Beacon took a hesitant step forward. The icy water slapped his shins, and he gasped at the shocking cold. His legs were as heavy as cinder blocks, freezing him in place. He knew he needed to be fast, but he kept thinking of Jasper. Thinking of that night.
He gave his head a hard shake and forced his body to move. He had to help her. He was her only hope.
Beacon was only knee-deep when a powerful wave knocked him off his feet. He fell hard, swallowing a mouthful of salty water. There was a terrifying moment when panic overtook him and he flailed helplessly. But then he managed to push himself up to his feet. He stood stalled at the mouth of the ocean, coughing and gagging, dwarfed in the shadow of the waves.
He needed to go farther. He needed to try harder. But he couldn’t make his legs move. All he could think about was how water just like this had stolen the life from his brother.
But she was out there, and she needed his help.
He took another step, but someone grabbed his arm and yanked hard. Beacon stumbled backward, pulled onto the shore like a misbehaving toddler being dragged out of a grocery store. He was dumped unceremoniously onto a long rock slab. Everleigh stood over him, her face twisted into a mask of rage.
“What were you thinking?” she screamed over the sound of the waves.
“I need to help her,” Beacon said.
“You’re not going to be helping anyone if you’re dead.”
The back door flew open and their dad rushed out.
“Police are on their . . .” His words died on his lips when he saw the twins, drenched on the rock slab. “What are you doing? Why are you so wet? Please don’t tell me you went in there.” His eyes were as round as saucers and his lip trembled. Beacon was suddenly back to that night, the night they got the news. The sound of his dad’s choked breathing made his chest squeeze hard, as if it had a cramp.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Of course we didn’t go in the water,” Everleigh interrupted. She yanked Beacon up. “We stood on the shore to get a better look and got blasted by a wave. It knocked Beaks off his feet, but that’s it.”
The lie came out so deftly that it had a ring of truth. Beacon didn’t dare look at his sister and give it away.
“Okay, well, let’s get you inside and into dry clothes,” their dad said. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
He hustled them inside. Beacon went upstairs and changed into a pair of clean, dry sweatpants and a hoodie. When he came back down, Donna was making tea like lives depended on it, briskly pouring steaming water into sturdy-looking mugs.
Everleigh sat at the kitchen table. She twisted her hands together and looked out anxiously at the lone fire truck and volunteer rescue workers rushing to and fro, siren lights reflecting off the ocean. Beacon knew what she was thinking about. Who she was thinking about.
He sat next to his sister. Together, they watched through the foggy, rain-splattered window as chaos unfolded outside. Rain hit the window like it was trying to wash the house away, but somehow the room felt deadly quiet.
After a year, Beacon still wasn’t used to the silence. For the first couple of months after Jasper had died, he’d been too torn up with grief to notice much of anything going on around him. But then the casseroles stopped coming, and the visitors left, and it was just him and Everleigh and their dad, and the quiet that ate up everything made you think about all the things you didn’t want to think about and feel all the things you didn’t want to feel. It had been like he was living inside of a tomb. He’d started spending as much time away from home as possible so he could escape the ugly truth that Jasper was gone.
Everleigh, on the other hand, rarely left the house. If she wasn’t in her room, she was in the garage, working on the car, the way she used to with Jasper. Beacon often wondered if she was punishing herself. If she thought she didn’t deserve to forget, not even for a little while. Not after what happened.
The door burst open suddenly, and their dad and two officers in shiny wet jackets came in on a blast of cold air. The kids popped up from their chairs as the officers took off their hats and rubbed warmth back into their hands.
“Sheriff Nugent, Deputy Steele,” Donna said icily.
“Donna,” the one with the dark bushy mustache and bulbous red nose said with equal animosity. He wiped a smudge of dirt off the faded gold star on the lapel of his jacket. He must be the sheriff.
“May we come in?” the one with the graying red hair and beard said. Deputy Steele.
Donna looked as if she was thinking about saying no. There was obviously some kind of history between Donna and the law enforcement here, and it didn’t make Beacon feel better about his living arrangements. After a long pause, she finally opened the door wider and ushered them into the kitchen, reluctantly pressing coffee mugs into their hands.
“Bless you, Donna,” Sheriff Nugent said.
“Real kind,” Deputy Steele said.
“Well?” Beacon asked impatiently.
The sheriff raised a thick eyebrow—he clearly wasn’t happy about answering to a kid, especially one who’d used that tone.
“It’s too dark and the water’s too angry,” he finally replied. “We’re going to have to send a team out tomorrow morning.”
“What?” Beacon cried. “It’ll be too late then!”
“I’m sorry, son. It’s all we can do.”
Beacon sank down into his chair. If only he’d been quicker. Louder. A better swimmer. Why had he hesitated? He should have done everything possible to save Jane.