At the Bottom of the Bay

Chapter Seven

So, the storm was real. Great.

She could hardly be blamed for wondering. Although hallucinating a summer storm was a far cry from the ocean falling from the sky, so maybe she should have been expecting this.

Sofia stopped when she reached the sidewalk, already soaked through. She looked back at the church door, feeling like a wet rat. The greeter watched her curiously.

Back to Lantern Light, she decided. Thunder rumbled, shaking the air, as she started walking.

The few shops she spotted on the way were shuttered, the signs in the windows flipped to CLOSED, most likely out of respect for the memorial. Avenby didn't endure tragedies like this often. Hell, not just Avenby; any town would be shaken up by something like this. Nineteen teens, kids, really, struck down in their youth. Possibly intentionally, possibly accidentally. The not knowing had to be the hard part.

Sofia stopped before turning down the alley to the boardwalk, thinking about Arlo, the note he never wrote, the explanations he never offered. The not knowing really was the hard part.

"Sofia?" a familiar voice said.

Jack Greymoore stood just off the curb, shoulders hunched under the onslaught, one hand securing the hood of his rain slicker over his head, dark hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks, his eyes hollow and pale, his other arm reaching out to her.

Sofia looked at that arm, the curled fingers at the end of it, like claws or fish hooks. "Jack," she gulped. She hadn't seen him in...

A stab of pain lanced through her head when she thought back, and she cried out, stumbling to her knees.

Jack was at her side in an instant, crouched next to her, body half blocking the rain. "Are you alright?"

Sofia laughed. She wasn't alright. She'd never been alright. What a stupid question.

Jack took her arm gently, his hands clammy and cold and wrong, and guided her to her feet. "Come on. Let's get you out of this rain.

Sofia leaned into him, the feeling familiar and new all at once. Jack Greymoore had once been the closest thing she had to a friend. She would stay at his place when things got too bad at home, and he didn't demand she explain the situation. He would share his lunch and cigarettes, his beer at bush parties, and always made sure she got home safe when she drank too much. At one point, she suspected he had a crush on her, but that was only ever a suspicion because he never treated her differently, never looked at her like she hung the stars from the sky, like he was put on Earth to serve her, never made any of that her problem.

She found herself walking the well trod path to his house, a one story three blocks from Main Street, further from Lantern Light than she had intended to go. It was fine, though. She figured she was in good hands.

They entered through the garage, and another shock of nostalgia hit her. It looked the same, the 24-inch TV set on a crate, the NES games a mess of wires attached to it. Jack peeled off his coat, tossed it onto one of the beanbag chairs. He wore a black turtleneck, black slacks, and loafers. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Were you at the memorial?" Sofia ignored his question. She kept her back pressed to the door, felt the rumble of more thunder shake the frame.

Jack ran a hand through his dark hair, longer than he usually wore it. "Yeah. I saw you there, just as you were leaving. I couldn't stomach sticking around either." He walked to the mini-fridge, dented in the front where he crashed his bike into it last summer, and grabbed two beers.