CASTAWAY ⚓ R.C, J.M

FIVE

Renfield.

The name cracked through her mind like the scariest of thunder. It howled in her head like the strongest gale force winds.

It was just a name. Somebody's name. A man's name. A man with dark, troubled eyes. Yet it brought Harley the same trepidation that erupted when a storm rode in.

Renfield.

The name had come to her when she had been hiding in the waters of the marsh not just thirty minutes ago where the group had almost been killed.

Two men in the marsh had given chase to the Pogues and shot at them as if they were wild deer. The ordeal had been an adrenaline rush, but mostly frightening. One bullet in the wrong place and any of them could have been in hospital right now. The most spine chilling realisation was that Harley had recognised one of those men. He had been one of her kidnappers last summer. Her blood had frozen when a memory of her seeing the same man months ago at the garage resurfaced.

Harley had been a little late to the garage, because she had been at the beach with Kiara. When she had arrived and turned to Billie's office ready to apologise, he had been there towering over one side of the desk. The two adults had hushed immediately, long pauses following and a hasty goodbye. She had paid the interaction no mind, nor the way they had cut their conversation so abruptly. He had brushed by her and sent her an odd look and a wink. She had been flustered and trying to focus on the steps in her head, but when she realised who the man was her mind had gone into a blank panic. Her hasty movements stopped and her eyes were stuck on his retreating figure.

The same questions that plagued her then, returned with vengeance. Did he live on the island? Would he be coming for her again?

Harley contemplated going to Peterkin this time. She trusted Peterkin, but she'd have to tell the Sheriff where she had been and where she'd seen the man. In the marsh, the one place she nor John B should have been. The Sheriff would call DCS for sure. Harley could not deal with any more stresses. Hospitals, cops, DCS, a missing dad, money worries and now flashbacks running havoc again.

"Are you alright?"

Harley realised she had wrapped her arms tightly around herself whilst she spaced out. She unwound her tense arms and faced Pope.

"Not particularly." She sighed and tried to ease her mind though felt her lips purse and fall into a frown.

Pope nodded. He understood and was happy Harley had been honest. Everybody could read her like a book, but it had taken the events of last summer and a few more months for the brunette to stop clamming things up.

The sensible boy smiled softly as he recounted his childhood anecdote, "When I was younger, whenever I frowned too deeply my dad would tell me to stop before the wind stuck my face like that."

"We're not outside Pope." Her sharp tone made her wince. Pope hadn't done anything to her and here she was being a bitch. Her eyes rolled at her own behaviour as she huffed. She melted her expression and regarded Pope with an apologetic smile. "That was rude... I apologise."

"I think you're allowed to be frustrated. We did just almost die for a pocket compass. So much for JJ's sea of treasures."

It had been no shock that Pope and Kiara were against going into the marsh, they were the voices of reason. Harley siding with the pair had been the real shocker. Normally, Harley leapt at the chance to do anything. Anything and everything excited her. Despite her bubbling energy, she had been more wary lately. The threat of foster care loomed over her like a bad omen. 

"Yeah. So much for that. I guess Scooter was the worst square grouper going. Whatever that means, I still don't get it."

Pope chuckled and skipped into one of his handy explanations. "Actually, square grouper is what you call bales or bundles of marijuana that got tossed off boats to be collected."