Shadows in the Surf
The cliffs of Seaview loom like sentinels against a sky that churns with menace, the jagged rocks below mirroring the chaos inside me. The ocean crashes violently, and I clutch the railing, the rusted metal biting into my palms. The salt-laden air burns my lungs, a welcome distraction from the suffocating reality that grips my life. Five years. Five years since Victor disappeared into the abyss, swallowed by the secrets of this town—and Silas Parker.
The memories pull at me, insistent and heavy. Victor wasn’t just taken. He was erased. No body. No official report. No justice. Just whispers of the power Silas holds, the way he controls Seaview from the shadows, how every crooked deal, every unsolved mystery, eventually leads back to him. I’ve uncovered bits and pieces, but it’s never enough. There were fires in storefronts that refused his “protection,” vanished men who crossed him, but no proof that would ever stick. And so here I stand, haunted by both the past and the ocean below, waiting for something to break.
Behind me, the familiar sound of Margot's gravelly shuffle announces her arrival. She’s late again. She always is. A thin line of smoke trails from her lips, and I can smell the alcohol on her before she even speaks. “This wind will blow you right off the edge, Lena,” she mutters, barely glancing my way.
“Let it,” I say softly, half-wishing the waves would swallow me too.
Margot sighs, stepping beside me. “Didn’t find anything today.” Her voice trembles, her hands jittery as she flicks the cigarette butt into the wind. “Parker’s got his claws in everything. The courthouse is locked down tighter than a vault.”
Anger flares, sharp and immediate. “We don’t have time, Margot! We needed that. The paper trail could’ve been the smoking gun.”
“I know,” she snaps, her voice cracking with exhaustion. “But the trail’s dead there. If we’re gonna find anything, it’s not in public records. He’s kept it close, somewhere only he’d know. The courthouse isn’t going to save us.”
I take a deep breath, the wind stinging my eyes. She’s right. The only place left to look is Parker’s own damn house. If he’s hiding something—something that could prove he killed Victor—it’s in there.
“We’re going tonight,” I say, jaw clenched. “To Parker’s mansion. We need that proof, or we’re finished.”
Margot’s face pales further, her eyes wide with fear. “You’re talking suicide, Lena. You can’t just—”
“I can’t not,” I interrupt, my heart pounding at the thought of finally ending this chase. “We go tonight, or we’re as good as dead anyway.”
The streets of Seaview are eerily quiet as we make our way toward Parker’s mansion. Storm clouds swirl overhead, matching the tension that tightens in my chest. The mansion looms on the cliffside, every window like a hollow eye, staring us down. This isn’t just a home—it’s a fortress, a monument to Parker’s power, and walking into it feels like stepping into the lion’s den.
“Lena…” Margot’s voice is barely audible, carried away by the wind. “Maybe there’s another way. Maybe we—”
“There’s no ‘maybe,’” I snap, my pulse racing. “We’re out of time.”
We creep toward the side entrance, the one I’ve watched from afar for months, waiting for tonight. My fingers tremble as I twist the handle of the service door, the stale air inside slapping me with the scent of cigars and expensive leather. The house is silent, save for the low whistle of the storm through the cracks. Every step feels like it could be our last.
Parker’s study is at the end of the hall. My throat tightens as we approach, the door ajar. I turn to Margot. “Wait here.”
Inside, the room is dark except for a single desk lamp casting long shadows. My breath catches as I sift through the papers. Then I see it—a letter, crumpled and half-hidden under a stack of invoices. Victor’s handwriting. I freeze, the weight of it settling into my chest.
The letter contains more than I expected—addresses, payments made under false names, even mentions of smuggling routes that stretch far beyond Seaview. Victor’s handwriting trails across the pages, a mess of details, hastily scrawled notes about a shipment he’d found evidence of and photos he never managed to show me. I see the proof right here: Victor found out about Parker’s smuggling network. He must have gotten too close. It’s all right here, laid bare in his handwriting.
But before I can process the proof in my hands, the door creaks behind me.
Silas Parker steps into the room, his expression calm, but his eyes—those dead, cold eyes—lock onto mine. The smile that curls his lips is slow, deliberate, like he’s been expecting this. “I warned you, Lena,” he says, his voice smooth as poison. “You should’ve left it alone.”
The room tilts as he steps forward, and before I can react, his hand clamps around my throat. He squeezes, hard, and I claw at his arm, stars flickering in the corners of my vision. The letter slips from my grasp, fluttering to the floor, forgotten.
But then there’s a crash. Margot, wielding a broken bottle, slams it into Parker’s skull. The glass shatters, blood spraying as he stumbles back, releasing his grip. I collapse to the floor, gasping for air.
“We did it,” Margot whispers, but her voice is hollow, filled with dread rather than triumph. Parker’s body crumples, blood pooling around him. His eyes flutter open one last time, and with a twisted smile, he rasps, “This changes nothing.”
And he’s right. Victor is still gone, and even with Parker dead, the hollow victory leaves me colder than ever. The proof, now stained with blood, is worthless. Everything I’ve fought for feels like ashes in the wind, scattered and meaningless.
The storm outside howls, but inside, there is only silence.