Page 97 of The Oscar Escape
“For the ritual?” Aria asked.
“You’ll be fine. You’ve recently had physicals, haven’t you?” Del asked over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
Physicals? He had to be joking.
“Um, no,” Oscar answered, sharing what must have been the hundredth worried look with his fake wife.
“The waters are cold this time of year, and you two survived a dip in the harbor. You should be fine,” Etta added breezily.
“Should be?” Aria repeated.
The judge picked up a picnic basket.
Where the hell did that come from?
The jowly man started for the exit with Georgia by his side. “Shake a leg, kids. We don’t want to be late.”
Oscar took Aria’s hand, and they left the inn. It was a pleasant evening, and his hoody provided enough insulation to keep him warm.
“Are you cold?” he asked, looking her over.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m good. It’s nice out. In fact, it’s quite a beautiful night.”
The moon hung low in the sky, providing enough light to follow the trail that led to Lighthouse Beach. The air was heavy with ocean-scented anticipation as the moonlight reflected off the calm sea. He stared ahead, catching the lighthouse’s beacon of light sweep across its custodial swath of water.
“What do you think they have planned for us?” Aria asked, keeping her voice low as they followed a good thirty feet behind the foursome.
“Hell if I know.”
“They need newlyweds for this . . . ritual.”
“That’s what they said.”
Her breath hitched. “We’re not newlyweds, Oscar.”
Why did her words—her accurate statement—hit like a punch to the gut?
“We’ll play along,” he squeezed her hand. “Whatever it is, they went to some trouble to do it. I’m sure it’s harmless.”
Was he entirely sure? No, no way.
“True,” she replied with a hint of skepticism as they made their way down a series of driftwood steps cut into the ground.
“Do you see that dim light?” he asked, catching a flicker.
Was it a fire?
They traversed the final steps, and the beach opened up before them. Set aglow with dozens of people holding candles. One couldn’t miss it. An altar that appeared to be made of gnarled driftwood had been erected near the water’s edge. Two lanterns hung from it and glowed from either side, illuminating what appeared to be a sacred space. Was it a little odd? Sure. But what he saw next had his eyes popping open like a cartoon character. He froze.Holy hell!The scene before him looked like something out of a lobster-inspired horror movie.
Aria gasped. “This is it, Oscar. This is how we die—slaughtered by artistically gifted senior citizens dressed like Mardi Gras crustaceans.”
Chapter18
OSCAR
Oscar blinked—waited for a few seconds—then blinked again. Still, the scene remained the same. Spread across the sandy beach, each resident sported a lobster mask. And these weren’t any old lobster masks. They were large, papier-mâchémonstrosities, with two large claws and stringy pieces fluttering in the wind. That’s what the judge must have had in the basket. The candlelight didn’t help reduce the creepy factor. The sea of flickering light cast ominous shadows against the ornately decorated face coverings.
“Aren’t these great? They’re over a hundred years old,” Del said, removing his mask. “Now, find a bit of driftwood, then head to the altar.”
