What Lies Beneath the Fog

》28《

We didn't walk directly to the lighthouse. Emma stopped by Water Byron's grave.

"I'm not sure what this is, Liam," she said, taking out the white object from her pocket, "but it might be a bone. Maybe it's hers."

Emma shrugged, her beautiful face looking unusually pale and serious through the light mist of raindrops of the ceasing downpour.

"I want to bury it," she added, the tone of her voice betraying an unshakable decision.

It seemed like a reasonable thing to do. Burying all that was somehow connected to the mystery would not solve it, but, like a full stop at the end of a sentence, might put an end to it. Too many hints and clues had been obliterated by the course of time. But we could still try to put the island's ghost to rest.

I searched my wet pockets and handed her the small black box that belonged to the broken key of the Byron's Lighthouse. It was the perfect size.

Emma smiled at me understandingly. She opened it and placed all the things that seemed to be connected to the Byrons inside-- the illegible, mildewed letter and the silver mourning locket, then the mysterious white fragment from the cave. We added the key, too. There was no reason to go back inside the lighthouse anymore.

Using a sharp piece of rock that we found nearby, I managed to dig a shallow hole in the mud next to Walter's grave. We buried the black wooden box there, covering it with the wet soil. Then Emma placed the two pebbles she carried from the cave on top, like two tiny tombstones. We were not sure, of course, but Anne Byron might have been with child when she died, so, perhaps, we have just buried two people in this makeshift grave.

We stood for a while in the thickening fog, shrouded in silence, lost in thoughts.

Perhaps Anne's husband had contributed to her death somehow. Or maybe he had not. It was possible that she had run off with her painting teacher as the people said, and the bone was not hers after all...

There were hundreds of questions and even more possible answers. Too many things about the Byrons and their life on the island would most probably remain a mystery forever, but we were hoping that we managed to change something, did what we were supposed to do and now the restless ghost of Anne Byron would find some peace.

Squeezing Emma's cold hand encouragingly, I wondered how she was feeling about what we did. I had only found out about this old mystery recently, but she had grown up with it. It had to mean so much more to her...

Emma looked up at me and smiled. Her smile reached her eyes and she looked calm and peaceful.

"It's ok now. We can go home," she said.

Seeing her so content made me feel happy.

"Good. Let's go then. We need to get dry," I told her, looking at the raindrops that got caught in her hair.

They looked like tiny, sparkly jewels, and I was tempted to touch them. She noticed my look and shook her head, sending the drops flying around. Then she stood on her tiptoes and reached for my hair, brushing the rain out of it. I had to smile, Emma always seemed to do just what I was thinking about, one step ahead of me most of the time. Then she offered me her hand, and I accepted it gladly. It felt good, holding her hand in mine.

Cold and exhausted, we made our way over the cliff, in complete silence, lost in thoughts. We walked under the white, tall lighthouse, listening to the sound of the waves crashing over the cliffs deep below and reverberating off the white walls of the tower. Then, we carefully crossed the narrow, treacherous bridge to our side of the island.

The heavy downpour of the morning was now just a distant memory. The last raindrops falling from the sky were morphing into the typical island's fog before reaching the wet ground. Our rainy morning's adventure had taken us much longer than we had realised. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we reached my house.

I unlocked the door, dreaming about a few simple things. The heat of the fire, dry clothes, and Emma's company for the rest of the afternoon. Now, without the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I felt exhausted. But when I saw the muddy footsteps that were still covering the floor, my dreams shattered like the waves rushing against the cliffs. I must have looked crestfallen because it was Emma who smiled at me encouragingly this time.

"Come on, it's not too bad. I'll help you clean it," she said, giggling at my disappointed expression.

It didn't take us long before the house was perfectly clean and orderly again. Then we finally got changed-- Emma got to wear a pair of my jeans and a T-shirt, both too large for her. But she managed to look good even in oversized clothes.

We put our wet garments to dry up by the fire, spread over the back of a chair. Neither of us was in a mood to eat, so we ended up on the sofa by the fireplace with a cup of steaming hot chocolate in our hands. Emma made it, and it was the most delicious hot chocolate I had ever tasted.

It felt great sitting close to her by the fire, recalling all the things we went through together since we had met. It was as if I knew her all my life. Was she feeling the same?

I looked at her and noticed that she was observing me thoughtfully through her thick eyelashes. She was tormenting her lower lip, as if she was fighting with herself. What was she thinking about?

I reached to her face, brushing a few strands of her long, damp hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned her head into my hand. I caressed her cheek, and she looked up at me, blushing, hesitating.

Suddenly, I wanted to kiss her so much. But what if she didn't? We only knew each other for such a short time... I had never felt like this before, never really kissed a girl...

I hadn't even noticed that I was leaning towards her, my heart racing, until she met me halfway and our lips touched. In that moment, everything around us dissolved into smoke, into the island's mist, and we were alone in the world, just me and Emma. A warm, tingling feeling was spreading through my body, and I wished that this moment would last forever... I felt her hands travelling up my arms, touching my face, exploring... I pulled her closer, never wanting to let her go.

Then, too soon, she pulled away, her cheeks flushed, her eyes startled. Her kiss left me wanting more, and I hadn't realised what was going on until the front door opened and shut loudly, and Dad's voice plucked us from our private corner of the universe and threw us back on the sofa, making us jump guiltily from each other.

"I see you two didn't get bored," Dad said, storming into the room, staring at us accusingly.

"Dad?" I asked, looking at him confused.

"Yes, Dad!" he echoed back, looking between us unsure of what he was seeing and what he might have missed.

Emma giggled, recovering her wits much faster than me.

"Good evening, Mr. Wallace. How was your trip?" she asked, standing up and leaving me alone on the sofa. "May I help you fix some dinner? You look cold and hungry," she added, walking past him into the kitchen, buying me some time to recover.

"Hmm, why not?" Dad agreed, sounding puzzled and amused at the same time. "Just call me James, I feel like we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future."

She laughed, and Dad graced me with a questioning, raised eyebrow look when he noticed what she was wearing. Then he followed her into the kitchen.

That was close, I thought. I slumped back on the sofa, finally recovering my breath.