eyes.
I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. Dare I trust him? I could tell him about moving objects, about breaking through chips… “You, all of you, were in the kitchen,” I blurted out, unsure why I was telling him this. “Aaron said you needed to tell me something, but Mom was worried about what I’d do if I knew the truth. Aaron said I was a carrier.”
He didn’t even bother to hide his interest now, but leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “Where did you hear that?”
I shrugged. “I…dreamt it.”
He stood. “That was no dream. Dear God, your mother was right all along.” He released a long, trembling breath. “I think it’s time you visit with Sierra.” He started toward the road. Realizing I hadn’t followed, he paused and glanced back. “Well, would you rather stay here?”
“No.” And because I wanted answers, because I had nowhere else to go, I followed.
****
Twenty minutes later I found myself outside of Sierra’s small cottage. Father Myron had hailed a taxi, told me that he’d explain to my Mother where I’d gone. Without any other word, he’d shut the taxi door and the car had sped away from the city, toward the island.
I’d been tempted to head to the beach, but knew it would be rude of me not to at least announce myself, and see why Father Myron thought I belonged here. A narrow boardwalk wove through the reeds to the white cottage. I paused at the door and knocked. Potted plants stood welcomingly on the stoop, but the house sat silently. A few tourists rode their bikes by, nodding in greeting. Frustrated, I knocked again. No one answered. The taxi was long gone. I sure as heck couldn’t walk back to Savannah. With nothing else to do, I followed the boardwalk to the back of the house.
I didn’t see her at first, standing amongst the waves so still, so silent. She could have been one of those white cranes in Florida, lean and elegant. Sierra stood on a rock that had managed to avoid the tide, the stone jutting sharply from the ocean waves. Her long, white gown billowed on the breeze; her hair braided down her back lay as still as her body.
What was she doing?
Frowning, I started toward the shore. The tide was in, had been for at least an hour, the water splashing up and licking at her toes, yet, her dress wasn’t soaked. The hem not even damp. She couldn’t have walked out there. No way she could jump that far. Had she been standing on that rock since the tide had come in?
“Excuse me. Sierra, do you need help?”
She didn’t respond, merely started moving her arms in long, fluid circles around her body, doing some sort of martial arts or Tai Chi. I waited for at least ten minutes, impatiently, until the water pulled away from my feet and headed back out to sea… until the water reached Sierra’s rock and further.
Heck, it was my own special version of The Karate Kid . Finally, after I had settled into the sand for what seemed like forever, and the sun beat down on me, burning my face, she turned. Those eerie pale eyes met mine and she smiled as if delighted to see me, as if she hadn’t known I was there.
She was so bizarre, where had she come from? I hadn’t a clue how old she was. She had smooth skin, but white hair. The slightest wrinkles were around her eyes, but nothing too deep. She stepped gingerly from the rocks and practically floated toward me.
I stumbled to my feet, my butt numb from sitting. “Father Myron sent me.”
“I know.” Reaching me, she pressed her hands together, bowed her head and said, “Welcome. Follow me.”
Considering I really had no other choice, I turned and started toward the deck attached to the back of the house. The cottage was raised on beams like most homes along the shore. That Buddhist statue sat smiling mockingly up at me. I looked away, annoyed. What the heck did he find so amusing?
So far I’d been here for two days and still hadn’t improved my training. I noticed her shoes outside the French doors, and
I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. Dare I trust him? I could tell him about moving objects, about breaking through chips… “You, all of you, were in the kitchen,” I blurted out, unsure why I was telling him this. “Aaron said you needed to tell me something, but Mom was worried about what I’d do if I knew the truth. Aaron said I was a carrier.”
He didn’t even bother to hide his interest now, but leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “Where did you hear that?”
I shrugged. “I…dreamt it.”
He stood. “That was no dream. Dear God, your mother was right all along.” He released a long, trembling breath. “I think it’s time you visit with Sierra.” He started toward the road. Realizing I hadn’t followed, he paused and glanced back. “Well, would you rather stay here?”
“No.” And because I wanted answers, because I had nowhere else to go, I followed.
****
Twenty minutes later I found myself outside of Sierra’s small cottage. Father Myron had hailed a taxi, told me that he’d explain to my Mother where I’d gone. Without any other word, he’d shut the taxi door and the car had sped away from the city, toward the island.
I’d been tempted to head to the beach, but knew it would be rude of me not to at least announce myself, and see why Father Myron thought I belonged here. A narrow boardwalk wove through the reeds to the white cottage. I paused at the door and knocked. Potted plants stood welcomingly on the stoop, but the house sat silently. A few tourists rode their bikes by, nodding in greeting. Frustrated, I knocked again. No one answered. The taxi was long gone. I sure as heck couldn’t walk back to Savannah. With nothing else to do, I followed the boardwalk to the back of the house.
I didn’t see her at first, standing amongst the waves so still, so silent. She could have been one of those white cranes in Florida, lean and elegant. Sierra stood on a rock that had managed to avoid the tide, the stone jutting sharply from the ocean waves. Her long, white gown billowed on the breeze; her hair braided down her back lay as still as her body.
What was she doing?
Frowning, I started toward the shore. The tide was in, had been for at least an hour, the water splashing up and licking at her toes, yet, her dress wasn’t soaked. The hem not even damp. She couldn’t have walked out there. No way she could jump that far. Had she been standing on that rock since the tide had come in?
“Excuse me. Sierra, do you need help?”
She didn’t respond, merely started moving her arms in long, fluid circles around her body, doing some sort of martial arts or Tai Chi. I waited for at least ten minutes, impatiently, until the water pulled away from my feet and headed back out to sea… until the water reached Sierra’s rock and further.
Heck, it was my own special version of The Karate Kid . Finally, after I had settled into the sand for what seemed like forever, and the sun beat down on me, burning my face, she turned. Those eerie pale eyes met mine and she smiled as if delighted to see me, as if she hadn’t known I was there.
She was so bizarre, where had she come from? I hadn’t a clue how old she was. She had smooth skin, but white hair. The slightest wrinkles were around her eyes, but nothing too deep. She stepped gingerly from the rocks and practically floated toward me.
I stumbled to my feet, my butt numb from sitting. “Father Myron sent me.”
“I know.” Reaching me, she pressed her hands together, bowed her head and said, “Welcome. Follow me.”
Considering I really had no other choice, I turned and started toward the deck attached to the back of the house. The cottage was raised on beams like most homes along the shore. That Buddhist statue sat smiling mockingly up at me. I looked away, annoyed. What the heck did he find so amusing?
So far I’d been here for two days and still hadn’t improved my training. I noticed her shoes outside the French doors, and
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