Page 2 of Washed Up
By which he means there’s no blood, or bones poking out, though it’s hard to be certain given the sullen sky and her bedraggled state. What the fuck happened to her? She’s pretty, young, late teens, early twenties at a guess.
“How do we move her?”
I’ve a cartoonish image of us trying to lift her between us, an arm and a leg each. “We need Max.” Luckily, bigfoot is currently skidding over the pebbles towards us. He arrives in a shower of them that half buries our girl.
“Sorry. Why haven’t you moved her?”
I realise my phone is still connected, and so is his as our words are echoed back to us through our devices.
“We need a stretcher,” Reid says.
“I can carry her.” Max drops to one knee. I don’t doubt that under normal circumstances he could, but she’s soaked through, with the tide pulling at her, and the stony shore is almost impossible to walk on.
“Let’s get her out of the water and then figure that out.”
Turns out even that’s not as easy as it ought to be. She’s part buried in the sand and pebbles, with the weight of her clothing and the tide against us.
“‘Pull, pull, me good lad. Pull, Winslow!’” Reid yells at us, which has the opposite effect, as both Max and I halt to scowl at him, while he continues scooping sand from around her likea dog hunting for bones. We watchedThe Lighthouse, a couple of nights back. What else do you view when holed up on a tiny island, besides watch a film about a couple of blokes stuck on a tiny island? Reid’s been hunting the shoreline for mermaids ever since, and now the bugger’s found one.
CHAPTER TWO
Iris
I wake naked in an unfamiliar room.
The sheets are clean, the décor, tasteful. Neither of those things tempers the panic that rises and threatens to pull me under much like the current that I remember all too vividly tugging me away from the shore.
Fuck! I’d been drowning. I was sure I was going to die. I guess if someone pulled me out, that explains the lack of clothing. You don’t typically put people to bed dripping wet, but if I was found, why am I not in a hospital? Or at home?
I shiver at the thought of that place. A refuge I can rely on no more.
Cautiously, moving as slowly as I can so as not to make the bed creak and alert whoever lives here to my consciousness, I push myself upright against the pillows so I can get a better look at my surroundings.
It’s not a lived-in room. Feels like an upmarket B&B rather than someone’s spare bed. There’s a lack of personal artefacts, and everything is very pristine. Wallpaper, at a guess, is Laura Ashley, and there’s not so much as a scuff mark on the skirtings.
I can see the door from here. There’s a piece of paper taped to the back of it.
Taking the duvet with me, I cross to it and peel it free.
Hey, we saw this on the internet and thought you might appreciate it.
Don’t panic. You’re safe.
That does the precise opposite and spikes my anxiety enough that it becomes an effort to focus. It’s okay being told not to panic, but that doesn’t quell the rising tide of what the fuck do I do now that’s simmering inside me, not helped by my dyslexia making the words see-saw and swirl.
Your clothes were wet, they’re in the washer, but there’s a set of clean things in the drawers. Sorry if they’re a bit big. It’s what we have.
If you need to use the bathroom, it’s along the hall. First on the left. We don’t have a spare toothbrush, but Max says you can have his. It’s the blue one.
If you just want to leave, that’s fine, but the tide might not be in your favour. Based on experience, it’s always out when you want it to be in, and vice versa.
BTW you’re on Liddell Island, if you know where that is.
We found you on the beach.
Okay, Reid found you on the beach. Pedantic bugger.
I read down the page, backtracking after each sentence to read it again, to make sure I’m interpreting it right. Liddell Island. It makes sense. The privately owned island is right across the bay. It’s said a reclusive billionaire lives there, but it’s also home to a posh restaurant, and allegedly, a recording studio. A causeway links it to the mainland at low tide, and at least one of the beaches has public access, which means I can cross without drawing attention to get home again.
