A Penny for your Thoughts (On Hold)

Chapter One

It wasn’t a far walk to the beach from the cottage. Caroline had been waiting all day to take it. The moon had not yet risen as she made her way down to the sea. However, she knew this path by heart, so the dark didn’t bother her.

The receding tide had left a wet ribbon of sand. The broadening strip reflected the security lights from homes along the beach. It gave her enough light to guide her steps to the water’s edge.

Slipping off her sandals, she waded out just far enough into the warm water to feel the wet sand shifting ever so slightly under her toes; a luscious feeling no pedicure in the world could immolate.

Caroline closed her eyes to better savor the treat of feeling the surf creaming over my bare feet as she walked parallel to the shore. She breathed in the damp salt air greedily as she listened to the silken whisper of the sea caressing the sand. The sibilant lifting and falling of the waves, their tiny curls tumbling towards the shore. Bliss, she sighed. Pure bliss.

Suddenly, a cold wet hand snaked out of the surf and grabbed her ankle.

“Help me,” a rusty male voice croaked in the dark.

A scream she did not recognize as coming from her own throat shattered the quiet night. Caroline could not have been more shocked if she’d stepped on a buried electric cable. A cocktail of terror and adrenaline soared through her bloodstream. Tingles of fear raced in every direction, shooting out towards her fingers and toes with lightning speed that kicked in her fight or flight response.

Jerking her leg free of the grasping hand, Caroline lost her balance and felt herself sprawling head-first into the surf as the momentum carried her forward in the shifting watery sand.

A large, wet body broke her fall. They collided, stomach to stomach. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Her hands plowed a furrow through the wet sand.  Caroline instinctively reached out to brace herself against the fall. Before she had time to sense the pain, she felt the bones in her right wrist re-break with a sickening crunch.

The man, unable to scream, let out horrible groan, which sounded more like an animal sound than a man’s to Caroline.

She lay there stunned; choking on the surf that washed over her. Somewhere along the way, her ankle had been released, and her left elbow grasped in its place.

“Help me,” the man moaned again, his voice sounding much closer with her right on top of him.

Caroline shuddered. Horrified by her proximity to the disembodied voice and the cold, wet body, Caroline struggled to scoot off the man using only one hand. The surf pushed and splashed her by turns, speckling her face with sandy water that went up her nose and down her throat. It slammed her against the man, who grunted pitifully each time. It washed her skirt up over her back.

She finally managed to get off him by simply rolling away. Her scantily-covered butt seemed to melt down into the slippery sand beneath the shallow water. The sand slithered past the elastic band of her panties, causing her to cringe at the grossness of its invasion.

She hugged the soggy cast encasing her broken wrist protectively to her chest against the surf jostling her body. A grunt of pain ripped its way from between Caroline’s clenched teeth, almost matching the one the man uttered.

“Help me,” he whispered again, reaching out to her. A security light reflected off the man’s shirt sleeve, giving her warning of his hand’s approach.

Caroline snatched her arm out of his reach, and scooted further away from him.

“What happened to you?”

“Help me, please.”

“Were you drinking and fell off your boat?” Caroline demanded, wondering if she was obligated to help the man if that was the case.

Hopefully he was just one of the many partying boaters bouncing along the tops of the waves, just off shore of the beach each day. If that was the case, it might not hurt him to spend a night on the beach. Teach him a lesson about drinking and boating.

“God no, woman! I’ve been shot. For pity’s’s sake, help me,” the croaky whisper came again. Weaker this time. Caroline could barely hear his voice over the surf.  “Please,” he bit out, sounding as if it was a word he was unfamiliar with.

“I don’t have a cell phone. I’ll have to go back to the cottage to call 9-1-1.”

Caroline pushed herself to her feet with difficulty, having only her left hand to help herself with.

“What’s your name?” she asked over her shoulder. “In case the 9-1-1 dispatcher needs to know.”

“Peter. Peter Langdon.” The voice had an accent that sounded faintly British, maybe?

“Don’t go anywhere, Peter Langdon. I’ll be right back.”

Caroline staggered out of the water as if she had been drinking herself. Reaching the beach, she searched for her sandals, while waiting for the man to answer her.

He didn’t, and Caroline could not bring herself wade out into the surf to touch him again; not even to find out if he had a pulse. She wanted as far away from him as she could get. She finally abandoned the search for the missing sandals and, ran for her cottage as fast as her bare feet could carry her.