My eyes fly open in the darkness, woken with a start but unsure of why or how. My heart is pounding hard, a sign that my body is aware of something my brain is still struggling to understand.

I have no idea what time it is, but the splitting headache I’m experiencing after being ripped from my slumber, makes me think it probably hasn’t been too long. I was in a deep, deep sleep.

I remain completely still in bed, holding my breath as I listen intently to silence of my dark cabin.

Suddenly, a soft creek comes drifting out from the living room, followed but a quiet shuffling sound. I’m not sure if the noise is from my floorboards moving, or a squeaking chair by the kitchen table, but it’s just barely more than you’d expect from a settling cabin.

Someone is in the house, I realize.

Carefully, I climb out of bed, looking for anything nearby that could possibly serve as protection. Unfortunately, there’s little to choose from, but I do manage to find a small, stone statue on the bedside table; once representing a fish, now representing a clubbing weapon.

Slowly, I creep towards the bedroom door, stopping right behind it and listening once more. There are no more creaks, but from here I can sense the air in the other rooms being moved is some way, gentle gusts rattling ever so slightly against the wooden door just inches from my head.

I realize now that my presence will be known the second I open this bedroom door, giving me little chance to sneak up on an intruder. My only option is to throw open the door and turn on the light, then pray that whoever’s broken in is more akin to a raccoon than a robber.

Of course, the other option is to sit in here and quietly wait it out, but that’s just not my style.

I take a deep breath and count down from ten, slowly preparing myself. I grip the stone statue tightly in my fist, raising it high for a powerful swing should be need arise.

When the countdown finally reaches zero, I throw open my bedroom door and flick on the light switch, casting the cabin in a brilliant yellow glow.

“Hey!” I shout out, hoping to startle my intruder, but then relaxing a bit when I realize nobody is here. The cabin is completely empty.

Just to make sure, I spend the next few minutes peering behind couches and checking under tables, finding absolutely no concrete evidence of another presence.               Despite the fact that nothing seems physically amiss, however, I still have a vague sense of unease gnawing away at me.

Eventually, I shut off all the lights and head back to bed, but not before checking on my cabin’s front door. It’s unlocked, something that should be frightening, but doesn’t surprise me in the least. I’ve been having a lot of trouble with the rusted old bolt, and while this might be cause for alarm back in the big city where crime is rampant, there’s not much to worry about out here.

At least, that used to be the case.

I double and triple check that the door is actually locked this time, then head back to bed, confident that this situation was nothing more than my mind playing tricks on me. I have been writing a lot, after all, and it’s certainly caused my imagination to get fired up in the past.

 

 

This time, my departure from dreamland is much more pleasant, slowly coming to my senses as the afternoon light flickers gently across my eyelids. The curtains are drawn, but a single sliver of brilliant yellow has somehow snuck through.

I’ve slept in, making up for lost time after the curious events of last night.

Eventually, I manage to drag myself into an upright position, sitting with thick blankets pooled around me as I rub the sleep away from my eyes. I let out a long, satisfying yawn and then stretch my arms as far as they can possibly go, every muscle in my body pulled tight and then relaxing peacefully.

It’s a good morning.

I climb out of bed and pull on my clothes, heading out to the kitchen for my morning cup of coffee.

Warm light spills out across the cabin, making everything seem even cozier than usual.

I warm up to pot from last night and then pour myself a mug full, staring out at the ocean as I take a long, nourishing sip. Down below, Grant’s cabin is quiet and peaceful, and although it’s probably already noon, I’m guessing the guy is sleeping in after a long night.  After our rendezvous in the woods, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was just as inspired as I was.

Excited by the words I’m getting down, I’d like to jump back in to my writing as quickly as possible, but I also know that my creative brain is never where it should be this soon after waking up. Instead, I opt to take a stroll down to the beach, soaking in some of this rare sun and allowing the fresh ocean breeze to tickle my skin. When I return, I’ll get back to work.

Grabbing a coat and toting along my mug, I head out the door and make my way down to towards the beach.

Lately, I’ve been collecting sea glass that washes up on the shore, a beautiful phenomenon that always makes me chuckle over the sheer irony of how it comes to be. People always see this multicolored glass, worn down into soft, round shapes, as a natural part of the coastline, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Sea glass is created when beach going partiers throw their empty bottles out into the water, or crack them open over rocks in a drunken stupor. The tide inevitably comes in and sweeps these dangerous shards out into the ocean, turning them over and over again in the tides for days, months, or even years. Eventually, these pieces will return to the shore in the form of gorgeous, tumbled glass, literal trash that’s been refined into something extraordinary. All that it took was a little time and a little patience, scraping away at the rough edges until, eventually; all that’s left is the shimmering beauty within.

When I reach the beach, I immediately get to work strolling along the water’s edge, my head down and my focus locked intently onto the pebbles and sand that pass beneath my feet. It’s not long before I find a striking blue piece of sea glass, larger than most and perfectly rounded on the edges to create a strange sort of oval. I lift it up and gaze directly through it, smiling at the way it casts the whole world in a cool, pleasant hue.

Suddenly, I stop, noticing through the glass that Grant is standing stoically on the hill above me. I wave, but he doesn’t smile with he sees me. Instead, the muscular man begins marching down the stairs before him.

“Hey! I have so much to talk to you about!” I call out, strolling over to meet him halfway.

It’s only then I detect just how serious Grant’s expression remains. Something is definitely wrong.

“How could you do that to me?” Grant demands to know, stopping abruptly.

I furrow my brow in confusion. “Do what? What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Grant continues, simmering with anger. “The song.”

“I loved the song!” I gush. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. It’s incredible!”

“That was for your ears only, Riley,” Grant reminds me. “You knew that. I told you to keep it a secret.”
“I did!” I cry out, completely taken off guard by this bizarre situation. “I listened to it once last night and that was it. Who the hell would I share it with?”

“Everyone?” Grant blurts. “The whole fucking world?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The song leaked last night,” Grant informs me. “It’s the first thing anyone’s heard of Bad Blue Medicine in years, and now it’s on every music blog.”

“Well… that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I stammer.

“Not if it’s unfinished!” Grant yells. “That could have been a massive hit! It’s the most important song I’ve ever written, and now it’s out in the world as a half-baked nightmare. We can’t turn that into a single now!”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I finally offer, shaking my head. “I didn’t send it to any music blogs.”

Grant just stares at me blankly, his silence saying more than words ever could.

“Riley, is there anything you want to tell me?” he finally asks, the intensity behind his eyes not letting up for a second.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I stammer.

“You were the only one with a copy of that track,” Grant informs me. “I gave you a drive yesterday, and now it’s all over the internet this morning? How do you think I should react to this? There’s only one version of this song with vocals on it, and I sure as hell didn’t send it out myself.”

“Well, neither did I,” I tell him, slowly shifting away from my defensive stance. I’m getting frustrated now, and although I feel for Grant in this terrible situation, there’s nothing I can do if he refuses to believe me.

“That song was my last chance of getting back into the spotlight,” Grant states bluntly, a crushing emotional weight to his tone. “The record label loved it, my manager loved it… you loved it. Now everything is completely fucked.”

“I’m sorry,” is all that I can offer.

Grant shakes his head. “Why did you do it, Riley?” he questions. “So you could tell the world about how you fucked over Grant Morrison during your next book tour? Or was it to get back at me for not sending Jessica home?”

Suddenly, my blood runs cold. My thoughts immediately drift back to last night, to the possible intruder that may or may not have been sneaking around in my cabin. This morning, the thumb drive was still exactly where I left it, but that doesn’t mean Jessica couldn’t have made a copy for herself.

“Oh my God,” I blurt. “I thought I heard someone in my cabin last night.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Grant questions, frustrated.

“Jessica must have stolen the file,” I reply, my eyes going wide.

Clark takes a deep breath, struggling to remain calm. “Is that really how you’re going to play this?”

My eyes narrow, finally losing it completely. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you not see what a terrible person she is? She’s a manipulative, evil bitch, and for some reason you just completely ignore it.”

Clark doesn’t deny this, but he defends her anyway. “Don’t try and pass this onto someone else just because you’re jealous,” he tells me with a smirk, the arrogant jerk that I once knew now bubbling back up to the surface.

“Having anything to do with you was as huge mistake,” I snap, seething with anger. “I thought you could grow, I thought you could overcome whatever made you into this monster, but I was dead wrong.”

Clark grins and then shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get a damn about what you think,” he tells me, then turns around and starts heading back up towards his cabin. “Let’s never talk again!” the man yells back over his shoulder. “Good? Good.”

I take a deep breath as I watch him go, I mired of emotions flowing through my body in rapid succession. The anger quickly transforms into sadness, a great wave of melancholy washing over me when I realize that things will never be the same.

The longer I sit with this, however, the more I realize that it’s probably for the better. I can’t change Grant if he’s not willing to change himself, and as long as he’s unwilling to left go of this rock and roll lifestyle, he’s always going to find a way to return to his asshole roots. Grant is a piece of glass that simply refuses to be polished by the currents; sharp, dangerous, and when it comes right down to it, obnoxiously brittle.

I should’ve known better, and eventually this anger turns around to point directly at myself. What the hell was I thinking?

Wanting nothing more than to be safely behind the glowing screen of my word processor, I begin to make my way back up the hill. I stop when I reach the dock, however, noticing something strange out of the corner of my eye. A long wooden paddle has been wedged under the structure, just barely poking out from the dock’s edge. It’s too far up the beach to be swept away by any currents, just barely above the water line during even the highest tides.

Curious, I walk over and pull out the oar, looking it over. This belongs to a nearby dingy, old and unused as it sits overturned on the opposite end of the beach. There’s no reason for this paddle to be all the way over here.

The second that I turn this oar over in my hands I gasp aloud, my eyes focused on the large circle of rust colored blood that has dried across its wooden blade. A long blond hair is caught between a crack in the wood, hanging limply.

As a storyteller myself, it’s easy to extrapolate what happened down here on the night Jessica ended up in the hospital. Of course, the timing was always suspicious, but now everything adds up completely. Jessica didn’t slip and fall on the dock, she hit herself in the face with an oar. It’s also possible that Amber did it for her, but regardless of how this occurred, Jessica wasn’t unconscious when she hit the water. The whole thing was just a ploy to gain back some attention and sympathy from Grant, and the whole thing worked like a charm.

Of course, the type of person who would intentionally send themselves to the hospital would also have no problem breaking into a cabin and copying a computer file. They also wouldn’t think twice about sending that file out to every music publication they could find, potentially destroying a rockstar’s album launch and long awaited career comeback just to frame someone else.

Grant is certainly angry right now, but he’s not dumb. I could bring this paddle right up to his door and blow the lid off of everything.

But I refuse.

If Grant’s going to change, then he needs to do it for himself. There’s already enough evidence that Jessica is utterly insane, but Grant absolutely refuses to give up on his bad boy lifestyle and the women who come with it. These are his choices to make, and if I force his hand, then it’s never going to stick.

Let’s be honest, it probably won’t ever stick regardless. The guy is a lost cause.

I drag the oar over to the ocean’s edge, then pull it back behind me. With one powerful movement, I swing the paddle forward and toss it as far as I can into the ocean, letting go of any attachment I’d felt myself developing to this arrogant, but fascinating, man.

The oar was constructed to float, so it remains buoyant upon on the surface. It doesn’t drift back towards me, however. Instead, the paddle begins to make its way out into the ocean, pulled away by the currents as it begins its journey. It could end up anywhere now, tumbling around in the island currents for years, or heading out into the middle of the Pacific.

It’s kind of exciting to think about.