Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (26 page)

I
arrived with a flurry of cinders. Dried weeds were my audience, a carcass of a house burned long ago my stage.

Not here. Please. Anywhere but here.

As far as the eye could see was farmland. Tears streaked my cheeks as my family home—a long ago abandoned corpse holding so many memories—welcomed me back. So many happy times completely overshadowed by that nightmarish day—ruined forever.

My knees folded and my bare skin was scratched by thorns as I collapsed onto my side. I sobbed, hugging myself, very aware I was naked with a wet stickiness between my legs that could only be from Callan.

I was a freak! I couldn't even have sex without emotions triggering my power. I didn't want to leave him. I was safe with him. Warm. Content. Wanted. My chest was tight as I purged my anguish. My eyes were fountains—weeping for ruining things with Callan, for my murdering urges, for my dead family.

What must Callan think of me? I hated my body—the weakness in my mind that brought me here. This was my darkness, my black-hole of depression and death.

My childhood ended here. I was reborn in a horrific splash of blood. My soul shattered into a million pieces, scattering across the universe, unlocking some part of me that could teleport.

My parents left me this plot of land, located a few hours from Sydney. Their only legacy was a burned house that was tainted and full of evil.

The first time I ported, I ended up here. Lost, confused, I screamed myself into insanity.

The next time, when I still didn't know how to direct where I went, I burned the house to the ground. Furniture, bloodstains, and all. It took fourteen hours for the flames to consume it, yet no fireman attended, no neighbors brought attention. It was a cleansing, not just for me, but for everyone who knew the infamous Breeze household.

And now, I was here again. Cold, naked, and bleeding, when only moments ago, I was tucked in Callan's arms, safe in his heat, overwhelmed with pleasure.

I shuddered as I relived what happened: my concentration cracked as my orgasm shredded me. My power detonated, wrenching me from Callan. I went from scrumptious dream to horrid nightmare. Alone and shaken to my ice-riddled soul.

The stars above shimmered with tears. It was cold here. I was in the same country as Callan, but I could’ve been on a different planet.

I spent the night curled up like a rejected toy, with only my tears and headache for company. My energy was depleted, drained beyond belief. Either because of what happened between Callan and I, or because I was imprisoned by ghosts of blood and agony. 

The sun hushed across the star-dusted sky before I roused myself from my naked coma. My skin was imprinted with foliage; my teeth rattled with chill.

As much as I wanted to give up, I couldn't stay here. I needed to find clothes, keep fighting. So many people relied on me: Maurice, the twins held captive by Atsu Bazeer, and future victims I had yet to save. 

Standing, I called my power, wrapping myself in frost. My heart led me to Callan, allowed me to hope I might have what others did. But my porting power murdered that hope the moment I disappeared from under him. Who was I kidding? My teleportation would never grant me a life of normalcy.

I couldn't do it again. Affection was the one thing I craved—an addiction I’d give anything to have. Indulging was not an option. I
couldn't
.

Breeze Farm swirled into a blur, and as I dissolved with speed, I knew one thing was for certain.

I would never see Callan again.

Chapter Twenty-five: Callan

S
he's not the only one. She's not the only one.
It blared in my head.
She's not the only one!

I caught the swell, pumping my arms, digging deep into the sea. The water crested and I leaped upright. My wet feet slapped against my board. The wave took me with it, and I rode the face of the water, staying in front of the crashing foam.

The second Mr. Kim dropped the bomb—the Ocean-wasn’t-the-only-one bomb—I hung up and grabbed my board. It was idiotic to surf so late at night. Night belonged to sharks—it was dangerous. But how was I supposed to stay inside after learning something so big? My mind couldn’t cope. I barely held on to my sanity when I accepted Ocean’s unique talent, but to know more people like her existed? What the hell was real anymore? Was anyone still normal?

Somehow reality merged with fiction: I desired, with every inch of my hungry body, a woman who could teleport.
Let’s also not forget the murderous tendencies
. That should bother me, but then, I would be a hypocrite. I couldn’t work within the confines of the law, so why should Ocean?   

Did she know she wasn't the only one with a gift? Did she fight crime with others like her? My chest squeezed with jealously. Why would she ever be interested in me? I was boring.
Normal.

The wave crashed close to shore and I shot off the top, flipping backward before submerging into the tumbling undercurrent. The leash on my ankle tugged as my board continued riding the wave.

I swam to the surface, grabbed my board, and slithered back on top. I turned away from shore, paddling to catch another wave.

The sky twinkled with stars, blotted in areas by wispy clouds. The beach spotlights lit up a small section of tide, but I was completely shrouded in blackness. The waves were ink, the sea foam white.

Another swell collected me and I catapulted to my feet, soaring along the water. The rush of speed calmed my stress, washed away my overbearing obsession with a woman I hardly knew. What I told her was true. She
had
poisoned me. I wanted to know the real her as much as I needed an antidote.  

The wave diminished, depositing me in the cool water. Out of the corner of my eye a flurry of fish leapt from the water, flashing silver under the moon.

My heart charged into hyper-drive.
Shit!

Get out!

I pressed my stomach to my board, propelling my arms as fast as I could. A glossy fin appeared to my left.

Shark.

Yep, I definitely had a death wish surfing this time of night.
Hurry!

I grunted, pulling deeper into the water. A swell grew behind me, sucking me backward with the rip.

A sharp nudge under my board sent blood roaring in my ears. No way did I want to end up chum.

Using my body’s inertia, I fought toward the shore. A wave wasn't far behind me—if I could catch it, I’d be safe.

Under the water, serrated teeth latched onto my wrist mid-stroke, jerking me sideways off my board.
Fuck!

I gulped a breath as I was tugged under. The shark twisted and flailed, trying to rip my hand off.

Callan, you're in deep shit!

A wave crashed above me, spinning me in a cauldron of froth. I pulled my arm, but the shark refused to let go. Working on instinct, I reached with my left hand and ran fingers along its oily snout. The shark tugged me again, biting deeper into my flesh.

I couldn't focus on the pain, or the horrid feeling of teeth against bone. It was fight or lose my hand. Upside down, nose full of seawater, I located soft pockets of eyes, and dug my thumb in as hard as I could.

My lungs screamed for oxygen. Something popped beneath my thumb, there was a flush of warm liquid, and jaws un-clamped from my wrist.

Floating, I was suspended with disbelief. I won.
It let me go.

I pushed off from the sandy bottom, lurching for the surface. Tugging my board toward me with help of my leash, I scrambled on top and charged toward the shore.

A lone wave picked me up, but I stayed on my belly, trying to keep as much of my body out of the water as possible.

When I was a couple of meters from shore, I leaped off and sprinted from the water. Blood sluiced from multiple lacerations on my forearm and wrist. A stupid thought dragged a deranged laugh from me—lucky it was my right wrist and not my left. Kim would be mighty pissed to find his tracking device in the belly of a shark.

Adrenaline doused my system as I hoisted my board with my good arm, cradling my other. In the silver light of the moon, my blood was black. It was everywhere, down my chest, my leg, dripping on white sand.

My body shook as I stumbled up the beach. How badly was I injured?

I made it to my apartment, leaving a trail of crimson in my wake, and headed straight for my shower.

Clear water washed away salt and blood. I inspected my mashed flesh as best I could. My arm pulsed with agony.

It was bad. Blood wouldn't stop mixing with water, vanishing down the drain, but my fingers still worked. It looked worse than it was.

Thank God it was a juvenile. If the shark had been a great white or an adult bull, I wouldn't be alive right now. For the first time in years, I sent a quick prayer for saving my ass. If all I had to pay for my stupidity were a few deep gashes and teeth marks, I was a lucky man.

Dripping wet, I used my towel to staunch the blood, rummaging in my vanity for a first aid kit. Once I’d fumbled with opening the gauze pads and anti-coagulant, I wrapped a bandage tightly, ignoring the blood seeping through the thin material.

Shit, now I knew how Ocean felt with her back injuries. We were walking disasters.

My arm burned. Crikey, was a shark infectious? Did I need a rabies shot or something?

Dressing awkwardly, I headed to my lounge. Should I call a doctor?

I'd give myself an hour, and if the shock hadn't worn off or the bleeding stopped, I’d get treatment. In the meantime, I popped some painkillers and cranked on my new laptop.

I had things to research, namely the reason why I was in the bloody surf to begin with.
Ocean isn't the only one.

She was an utter mystery. I doubted even she knew the real her. The way she attacked me—consumed me—showed a deep-seated need for touch. I bet she didn't realize that though.

She ran away her entire life from love, how could I expect her to cope with what I wanted from her? It wasn't possible, unless I understood what made her tick. Solved her riddle to break her chilly facade and make her mine. One thing was for certain, after making love to her on my couch, I wasn't going to let a simple thing like her vanishing turn me off. I rolled my eyes. It was hardly simple.

Once the laptop was alive, a screen opened telling me to scan. I did—pleased to see it worked. The same input screen Kim showed me in Korea appeared, only this time the location was Sydney, Australia. The
alive
status made me chuckle darkly. Alive, well—just barely after my idiotic surf with creatures of the deep. Shit, that was so stupid.

Once the internal search was ready to go, I typed:
Anomalies in traumatized humans
.
ENTER.

Reams and reams of information spewed onto my screen, inhibited by deception or privacy. The great volt of the World Wide Web was open to my fingertips. Holy crap, this system was amazing.

I saw my answer immediately.

Kim was right. Ocean wasn’t the only one.

A case of a little boy in foster care disappearing into thin air; a young man arrested for appearing in the middle of Christmas dinner in the family room of a US senator. There weren't many, but the articles of unexplained disappearances were too obvious to ignore.

Wade texted me half way through an article about a ten-year-old girl who stole her neighbor’s hamster and vanished.

Hey, mate. You get a chance to read Emily Snow's file? Gray is breathing down my neck. Cheers.

What with sharks, mind-blowing vanishing sex, and being hijacked by a secret Asian agency, I hadn't spent as much time as I should on the Aussie missing girls.

It was two in the morning, I'd been mauled by a damn-ass shark, and my system was drenched with adrenaline. That, in my world equaled—no sleep. I wouldn't call myself an insomniac, but I was close.

I grabbed my last remaining beer in the back of the fridge, and refreshed the computer screen.

Opening the file for Emily Snow, I entered her information into my top-notch laptop: her age, nationality, where she went missing, her family circumstances, and finally, the drugs found in her system. The system spat answers as soon as I released the code.

I gulped. The medical exam performed on Emily in detox showed she’d contracted the HIV virus. Her body was ravaged by months of sexual abuse by multiple men. Her future would be bleak.
That bloody bastard.
My skin crawled at the thought that Ocean came into contact with that motherfucker. How did she deal with him to save those girls? Nausea rolled in my stomach. I probably wouldn’t cope if I knew the sordid details. 

The KCIA uplink revealed secrets and whispered conspiracies. The program was so thorough, I felt obsolete. Pages and pages of girls and snapshots of women, young and middle-aged, along with dates of disappearances, locations, and case notes.

Each girl’s case was different. Was there a pattern? Some were pretty enough to model. Some were so unattractive they’d only be loved by their mothers.
That was harsh, Callan.
Seemed being half-eaten by a fish made me cruel.