The Edge of the World

Chapter Six

The wails started soft, then climaxed to an ear-piercing pitch the longer it went on, causing Ian and Tatum to wince in discomfort. The sounds resembled something like the yowls of a big cat piggybacking off the screams of a feral man which seemed to rage on for an eternity. The echoes chilled them, and their eyes met then held through the maddening shrieks.

Tatum found the strength to move only when silence returned. Raising the gun, she strode towards one of the two windows of the cabin. Of course, she saw nothing, for the night's fog was much too thick, but she believed with all her heart that whatever the creature was, it remained nearby. There was no doubt that if given the chance, it would send them to meet the devil.

"What the hell was that," Ian hissed from behind her. She closed her eyes, feeling his body heat warm the flesh of her back. Ever since they entered the cabin together, her awareness of Ian was making her chomp at the bit, and it was all she could do to act casual while images of them naked, sweating, and grinding drifted through her mind, fucking with her. The shit she craved to do to him would cause sex workers to blush, and she hated herself for wanting him. The beautiful and elusive Ian Shimura wasn't her type. He was so far above her she would need the Hubble Space Telescope to perceive all that was him, so the idea of them being intimate was ridiculous.

But she could still see them in her mind just as clearly as if they fucked minutes ago. Their bodies pressed together, legs entwined, and the scent of sex filling the room as he took her haunted her thoughts like a ghost in an old cemetery. It never happened and yet, the memory was real. It was vivid, compelling, and made her body hum with a powerful need. She spoke through clenched teeth, wishing her body didn't want the college boy who seemed to be the bane of her existence on that hellish island.

"I don't know."

"Think it will come back?"

She turned and ambled past him, seeking respite from his nearness.

"Might could," she drawled from over her shoulder. Ian stared out the window and whispered strange words over and over again. She strained to hear without being too conspicuous.

"Six sick hicks nick six slick bricks with picks and sticks..."

Tongue twisters. She'd heard him mumble them before as if it were some nervous tick. Perhaps saying them kept him calm. If so, she couldn't judge him for self-soothing during this period in his life. If such things worked on her, she'd say them all day.

He sighed and stepped away from the window, before starting a perusal of the cabin, eyeing the kitchenette with confusion.

"This place has plumbing? I mean, seriously. That's a sink. Does the faucet work?"

Even as she nodded, he reached out and turned on the cold water, his brows furrowing as water sputtered through the spigot, muddy at first, then clear.

"And the hot water?"

She shrugged and leaned against the cold cast iron wood stove, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her dusty jeans.

"There's a metal cylinder in the back yard with a hollowed-out bottom. Looks to me like it fills with water, and you burn wood beneath it until the water heats up. Then you can use the sinks, or the shower," she added, tipping her head towards another door at the rear of the room. His feet moved swiftly along the hardwood floor where he opened the door to peer inside.

"Aside from electricity, this place has all the comforts of home," he said, stepping into the dark bathroom to rummage through a multitude of small cabinets.

"Toilet paper! Hell, yes!Toothbrushes, and, Jesus Christ, tooth powder? Do they even make that anymore?"

She waited for him to finish sleuthing and reenter the room before glancing his way.