Dark Beach - By Lauren Ash Page 0,55
Hot blood jetted out from all angles. All Jenny saw was red, and the sweet taste of iron flooded her mouth. She spat and spewed, gazing up at the black behemoth towering above.
Gripping the gun tightly, she pointed up until she felt it hit soft flesh. She cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.
A blank click.
She pulled again. Click. Click. Click.
“NO!” she spluttered.
Dropping the gun, she punched up and hit bone, hit greasy flesh. She dragged her nails along the beast’s insides, strained to kick and squirm, but the teeth only tightened their grip on her neck. Dizziness set in as all the blood in her body oozed away.
“Leave me,” she slurred, her gaze landing on the black roil of unforgiving ocean. “Leave us be.”
Then she let the beast consume her, let it triumph.
* * *
Jenny woke violently, her hands groping wildly for the hard floor beneath her nails. In the background was a low scraping sound. She gasped for air and reached for her neck, feeling her head. It was all there—body intact. She felt stiff and sore, and her neck throbbed.
Unsteady, she rose and walked to the white, wicker-framed mirror on the wall. Bruised fingerprints covered her neck, like a tattooed necklace. She lifted her hands up and stared. She couldn’t remember what she was doing or why she was there? She thought hard, but nothing came to her. “Jesus.”
The walls began to spin, the mirror rotated.
She slapped herself. “Get it together.”
She slapped herself again and the motion stopped. I need my pills, she thought. My pills.
The low slapping and moaning continued.
What is that? She covered her ears. “Just shut up,” she yelled. “Shut up!”
Backing up, she tripped and looked down to see a broken phone. “Huh?”
She picked it up and examined the wires hanging out, then tucked them back in and pressed the face back on, but it wouldn’t stay. Jenny picked up the receiver. Silence.
Notebooks were spread across the floor and a revolver was abandoned in the corner.
“A gun?”
It caught the light of the candle behind her and gleamed, puzzling, fascinating. Picking it up, she maneuvered it into firing position, pointing it at the broken phone. “I’ve done this before,” she whispered.
The black and white faces on the walls watched her descend the narrow steps to the master bedroom.
Time to leave, she thought. This is too freaky. She heaved her red suitcase onto the bed and found her little black bag. In the medicine bag, she found three bottles of pills—all an ugly translucent orange.
Staring, she undid each lid and set each bottle down, sighing. Then she picked one up and took out a small white pill. She put it in her mouth, holding it there, recalling something—or nothing. She felt a twinge in her stomach—a cramp. “Oh boy.” She spat the pill back into the sink and rubbed her head.
Exhaling, she picked it up again. The white coating came off on her fingertips. I’m pregnant, she remembered. Placing the pill on the sink, she took a seat on the edge of the white bathtub, her head in her hands.
The strange keening sound faded a little, replaced by the drip of the bathtub faucet.
Jenny set the gun on the edge of the tub and calmly turned on the faucet. She needed to relax, to escape. Maybe a warm bath would help ease the cramping. She began to undress. Once nude, she slipped into the bath and settled into its warmth, pouring some pink liquid soap onto the yellow tub sponge and washing her arms and her full breasts, pausing over her full belly. “I need to slow down on the ice cream.”
Moving on to her legs, she gave her feet light massage. Relax. She brought her hands up to her neck and rubbed lightly. “So much better,” she said, closing her eyes, sliding down into the water, leaving only her nose above the surface. Relax, she told herself again, thinking of that day in the Cascade Mountains with Ron.
A whimper from downstairs interrupted her thoughts.
“Charlie…” she inhaled, and then exhaled gradually and sat up in the tub.
The whining stopped. She felt her thoughts slipping away again. Then she suddenly jolted awake, shocked upright.
A man stood at the bathroom doorway.
Jenny held her breath, quickly moving her arms to cover her exposed breasts and bringing up her knees up to cover her lower regions. Her eyes flew to the gun on the bathtub edge. It was not there. Shit!
The man was holding it, or rather, pointing it directly