Soul Tides

ONE || there's something in the water.

They say the lake gives and the lake takes, and she was no exception to its rule.

Waves pushed and pulled, lapping against a prone, slender body like the lake itself was trying to nudge her awake. Dark hair woven with tendrils of seaweed billowed out in rhythmic breaths each time the water washed over her.

Water.

Gasping for air, she clawed at the beach around her, coughing water from her lungs. Sharp, pebbled sand cut under her fingernails as she struggled to push herself upright. With her heart pounding, she managed to get her legs beneath her, stumbling up the shore towards her cottage.

Twisting her head over her shoulder, she looked back at the dark water she just emerged from. Bands of color spilled over the great lake's horizon where low in the sky the bright moon was setting.

"For fuck's sake, Philips," she cursed herself with a shiver, racking her brain to remember anything. Traces of woody notes lingered on her lips as she rubbed them together. Whiskey. Maybe an obvious answer to her blackout. But the fog in her head didn't feel right. Neither did the wind nipping at her bare ass.

Clutching herself, she hurried up the shore, glancing over her shoulder every few steps. Piles of sun-bleached driftwood that marked the tideline laid scattered over the beach like a boneyard under the deceptive glow of the moon.

Looking towards her cottage, she noticed the French doors leading from her bedroom to the deck were wide open. Something rustled around in the bushes along the property line as she got closer. Soft, but hurried footsteps pattered against the graveled easement between her cottage and the neighbor's land.

Please don't let Mrs. Miller be awake right now.

The last thing she needed was a full-frontal run-in with her neighbor while she walked her yappy poodle first thing in the morning. But high on the hill above, Mrs. Miller's Victorian lakehouse sat dark and still, aside from a single light glowing in the top window of the three story turret.

Once inside her bedroom, she threw her robe over her shoulders and sat at the edge of her bed, picking chunks of seaweed from her matted hair. As she tried to decipher the blackout, a cool breeze from the north blew through the screen door; a reminder that summer was coming to an end.

On the bedside table, the bottle of whiskey sat half consumed next to an empty lowball glass. Cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked laid scattered and stacked precariously throughout the room like booby traps. Yet, everything appeared to be where it'd been prior to her losing consciousness. With an undulating whisper, the lake's morning tide murmured the secrets of the night.

After flicking the last couple pieces of seaweed from her hair to the floor, she flung herself backwards onto the mattress. But as her head hit the pillow, her mind wouldn't shut off.

Maybe you should lock the patio door so you can't sleepwalk escape.

No, that's dumb. Sleepwalk You would just unlock it, right?

Flipping over to her side, she squinted through the dark at the bottle on the nightstand.

Maybe the whiskey went bad.

Does whiskey go bad?

You were probably just drunk and blacked out. Decided to go for a quick skinny dip. And now you're paying for it with sand in your—

A scream pierced the early morning air, jolting her from her thoughts. Springing out of bed, she tightened the robe around her waist and reached inside the nightstand. Her fingers wrapped around the grip of her gun as she lunged towards the patio door.