Traces of Delilah

Fifteen

Fuck. It was going to rain. I could sense it.

The hazy sky. The dark gray clouds. I should've just gone home. Yet I couldn't deny part of me was worried about Thomas. Whether it was myself or the part of me that was fused with Delilah's memories, was another story.

I straightened myself, to get a better look ahead at the road. "Crap, I hope I'm going the right way." The streets to the lighthouse were familiar but a blur in my head.

I could start to see the tides washing onto the sand from here, just over the edge of the hill to my left. I should have been approaching the small, quiet, sleepy neighborhood of Baskerville soon. Good. I wasn't entirely lost. That gave me some sort of hope.

The tides were rough, some parts clashing against jagged edged rocks, poking out from underneath the piece of land the lighthouse sat on, on the beach. God, I hoped it wasn't going to rain. At least not before I made it home. He had better still be there. Because if he wasn't there anymore, I was going to be one pissed person. Though I'd brought this on myself when I decided to play hero in his relationship.

"Fucking hell." I winced at the light flashing in my eyes once again. It was a bright flicker of white that blinded me through my mirrors.

"You are seriously starting to work my last damn nerve. What the hell are you doing? It isn't even dark enough for you to have your damn high beams on!" I gritted my teeth, seething under my breath. A simmer of anger shot through my veins.

This car had been driving behind me for a while now at a fairly slow pace, just five below the speed limit of fifty-five. Because of how far behind it was and its high beams, I could hardly see who the car belonged to, or what kind of car it was. I wasn't as agitated before. 

For the most part, this was a narrow one-way strip. There weren't many places else to drive. However, now that it was being done intentionally, I was ready to give this person a piece of my mind. But I resisted the urge to pull off the side of the road, yell out the window, and flick them off.

Finally, I could see a few houses ahead. All, white, gray, and black. We had entered the small lonesome neighborhood. When my eyes flicked to the mirror, I caught the car turning left into one of the blocks. I should have been thankful I didn't have to deal with their stupid lights anymore. Instead, my heart sunk.

The hitch in my throat added onto my sudden discomfort. One arched eyebrow, turned into two furrowed eyebrows. It was all because I had noticed the car was a white sedan. I did not move to Connecticut to be the star of a horror movie. But it was starting to feel just like that.

"Just speed up and get the hell out of here," I muttered to myself. 

Every few minutes or so, I checked behind me. There was no car. I did this all the way down the hill, through the neighborhood, until I parked in the empty parking lot near the wooden steps, that led to the lighthouse and the beach. 

It would have probably been easier to drive around and park on the beach. I remembered Andrew having done that when he first introduced me to the lighthouse. But my nerves were singing a sickening melody in my head. I was too eager to get out.

"Thomas?" I called, upon entering the lighthouse. I couldn't hear anything except the wood creaking under my sneakers. I slowed my pace, glancing around the inner white walls.

Someone had obviously been here. The place was a mess. There were cans of beer scattered along the small brown wooden table. Some were open, some were not. A first-aid kit had been propped open. Beside it, a few bloody gauze pads were sprawled over the surface. The sight made my toes curl.