He settled on the edge of the cliff as waves struck and curled over the rocks below, creating a fierce rhythm. It vibrated his soul, shaking out places of misery and bringing healing. This was his place. Lorna’s too, the voice in his head informed him. Disgust twisted his face. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “not anymore.”
Lorna called yesterday. He’d let it go to voicemail, but he played it today. A heaviness weighed on his heart as he listened. “Hey, James, it’s Lorna. I hate to intrude on you after — everything, but I don’t have a choice. I had a vision,” she paused. He heard her take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, James, but the guy I have been seeing for the last month — god, I know this is awful — he’s in trouble, James. I believe someone is after him. The vision was fuzzy. Something dark, a shadowy figure, attacked him in the middle of the night. I know you don’t like to use your powers, but I could use your help. If you don’t want to, I would understand, but I have nowhere else to turn. Ok, bye, James. Please… please call.”
God, he missed her. Her voice brought back so many memories. Now she wanted him to help her with a new guy. What was he supposed to do? It had only been six months since she left. Six months since he’d heard her sweet voice. Heat seared and power coursed through his body. A mix of confusing emotions flooded him, pushing it up and out from his core. He moved the storm clouds in and filled the sky above. The sky opened and rain poured as he drove it over the cliff to meet the tumbling waves.
Power poured from him. He didn’t know how he felt about it. She’d fled while he slept. No conversation. No fight. Gone. Lightning shot through the clouds when his hands lifted, fed by a hot flash of fury and leaving behind a purple glow. Thunder shook his body. His boots slipped, forcing him closer to the edge.
She’d left a note on a piece of her diary paper. It said, “I’m sorry.” That’s it. No explanation. The jasmine perfume she’d always worn had lingered. He’d sat there, frozen. He should have gone after her, but what’s the point? She left. He slipped closer to the edge.
Electricity powered the air as lightning faded. His golden hair glistened under the breaking clouds. Water tickled as it rolled under the collar of his black and red flannel. James stared out over the water. His weathered blue eyes searched beyond the storm.
Eventually, they’d see each other again. It wouldn’t be now. He wasn’t ready. Drizzle changed to mist, and the thunder grumbled over the smashing of the waves. He shifted away from the ocean. Away from the edge. Then strode back to his little cottage.
James loved his little three-bedroom cottage, it stretched out on land handed down to him from his family. He had it built three years prior, when his business, MaCafree’s Media, had taken off. It sat far enough away from the cliff’s edge to avoid any significant issues from potential rock slides. It also provided a pleasant walk for him and Macey each morning.
Macey let out a deep “woof” as she ran in to greet him from the open patio. He passed his hand through her soft ringlet labradoodle coat. He recalled the day he’d taken Lorna to the pound to get her. Lorna’s face lit up when Macey came right to her. They belonged together. He shook his head and removed himself from the memory at the rumble of thunder. “She left us both, didn’t she, Macey?” She whined and nudged her snout under his hand. He gave her another quick scratch before heading up to his office. Macey followed behind. He calmed and the storm with it.
An incoming email dinged from his laptop.
His body disappeared into the oversized luxury office chair. He had cringed at the initial price tag. Then he sat down. It had hugged him with comfort. He purchased it. When you work from home all day, buying the best is essential. He had it a couple of years now. It was still holding strong. He leaned his arm on the cherry-wood desk given to him by his mother on his eighteenth birthday. It had been his father’s before he died. It held his laptop, a mesh pen holder, a couple of file bins, and a notebook. Everything sat in its specific place.
He liked order. No, he preferred it. He never understood how people threw their things around. How their things were without a home. He also didn’t strive for perfection. He often left a novel he was reading lying around, or his clothes wouldn’t always end up in the hamper. However, in his office, things needed to be in their place. He found it difficult to concentrate on his work if they weren’t.
While he waited for his laptop to load, he looked through the sliding glass door beyond the balcony to the ocean below. He preferred this side of the house as his office because of the view. It helped him keep grounded and calm on rough days.
A smile crept over his face when he opened his email. Looks like the prep work for the new Shadow’s band had paid off. They offered him a chance to handle the social media for their fan page. Bands were new to him, but he wanted to try them. Most of his clients were vendors with products to sell through social media. The work kept him busy and provided a nice paycheck. However, when the Shadows came across his desk, he jumped at the challenge. He put it aside for now.
Then he remembered why he’d come up here. Lorna. He clicked open a new email. To not call bordered on cowardice, he knew it, but he wasn’t ready to talk to her. Not yet. The police could handle the problem if she felt it urgent enough. Lorna’s visions were never wrong. They often lacked information, but they were never wrong. Unease crawled up the back of his neck, and his stomach soured. He ignored it and wrote.
From: James MaCafree
Date: May 12
To: Lorna Reaves
Got the message you left on my voicemail yesterday. Sorry for the delay in response.
After much thought, I have decided I cannot help you at this time. My only suggestion is the police. I know you can create a believable story from your vision.
I wish you the best,
The pointer lingered over the send button. His mobile phone lay beside the laptop. He opened it and dialed her number, then hesitated before hitting send. The breath he held swooshed out as he set the phone down. He hit send on the email. Repercussions would come later, and he’d handle it.
He closed the laptop and headed for the door. “You coming, Macey?” She stretched, her tail swatting at the air, then followed him down the stairs. Her nails clicked the floor on the way down the wooden stairs.
Photograph by Thom Holmes via Unsplash. Altered by Jennifer Brewer via Canva
***Disclaimer*** This is a work in progress and as such is likely to change before reaching the finished product. Thank you for your understanding.
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Originally published on Vocal.
Thanks! I’m pretty excited 😆!