Find Me (Immersed Book 1) Read online

  Find Me

  Immersed Book 1

  Francesca Riley

  Copyright © 2018 Francesca Riley

  Editor: Lisette de Jong

  [email protected]

  Cover: Zoella Rose

  (Photography credits: @belchonoch and @mihtiander}

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations in entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-473-44239-2

  Contents

  1. Changes

  2. Departures

  3. Returned

  4. First Recall

  5. Encounter

  6. Freefall

  7. Warning

  8. Talk

  9. The Past

  10. A Shadow

  11. Sightings

  12. An Invitation

  13. Suspicions

  14. Supervised

  15. Distractions

  16. A Leap

  17. Find Me

  18. Diversions

  19. Impossible

  20. Questions

  21. Secrets

  22. Revelations

  23. Lessons

  24. One of the Dark Ones

  25. Acquaintances Old and New

  26. Ambushed

  27. Confrontations

  28. More stories

  29. Trust

  30. Flying

  31. Darker Details

  32. The Others

  33. Loss

  34. Missing Pieces

  35. Bait

  36. Courage

  37. Answers

  38. Fragile

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  1. Changes

  Skye opened her mouth to scream and bitter salt water rushed in. Thundering water pushed her down. Terror filled her and she flailed, searching for light, for breath. For Mum. Her lungs burned. Her body ached simply for up. Then from the ocean shadows an angel’s arms reached for her.

  A soft bell-like sound rang through the roaring waves, pulling Skye from the water like a lifeline. In the dry silence, panic spiked at the arms still restraining her. But at once she felt them give a little. Fuzzy arms. The rolled arms of her armchair, in fact. She’d dozed off and slumped down, becoming cramped in sideways.

  She pushed herself upright, exhaling. Just a dream. Her childhood nightmares had returned. Sort of… Something about them had changed.

  Closing her eyes, she saw again the dim, water-blurred figure of the angel and her heartbeat quickened. Not with fear, but with something less easily defined that had crept into her returning dream. Instead of being a child, she’d been her seventeen-year-old self. And for a moment, just before she woke, her helpless fear had become a curious sense of discovery. Or longing. Flushing, she opened her eyes.

  Outside the window evening tinged the sky. A clear tone of glass on crystal sounded from the next room and she recognised the noise that had woken her. She tensed, focusing on the sounds from her father Daniel’s study. A shuffling thud was followed by his soft swearing. Skye pictured another stack of his papers hitting the floor.

  Seconds later he appeared in the doorway, slightly unsteady. Murmuring something that sounded like goodnight, he climbed heavily up the stairs. Skye gave an ironic half wave as he disappeared. She guessed she’d be getting dinner for herself, and began a mental inventory of tins in the pantry.

  As she stood, a book tumbled to the floor. Her mother’s old Hans Anderson’s Fairy Tales. She’d fallen asleep reading it for about the hundredth time. And it showed. Picking it up, she saw the worn spine was giving up on its job – a couple of pages had worked loose. She crossed to her dad’s study in search of repair tape.

  A pile of his endless research papers for a new book on sea lore was strewn across the carpet. An almost empty bottle of spirits stood next to his computer, busy with a screen saver.

  She put her mother’s book on the desk. This house was too damned quiet. Scratch that: her life was too damned quiet.

  Fishing out her cellphone, she dialled, crossing the room to put some music on low.

  “Skye-bear!”

  Skye smiled at the enthusiasm at the other end of the phone. “Oh, I’m sorry Stranger, I was trying to get my best friend.”

  Morgan laughed. “It’s been too long, I know. You just beat me to calling by about ten seconds, I swear. What’s happening?”

  Skye looked out at the creeping dusk. “Precisely nothing, as usual. How about you?” Putting the phone on speaker, she began to gather her father’s scattered papers up off the floor, as always avoiding reading his painstaking notes. She didn’t want to know about a drowning from years ago, or from last week, or any of the strange sea stories he hunted out.

  “Lots, actually. It’s been crazy. We’ve moved to holiday apartments, a place called The Towers, for one thing.”

  “You have? Why?”

  “Looong story. And I’ll only tell you when I see you, because you’re coming back to Bannimor for the holidays – right?”

  “...I don’t know, Mags.” Skye stacked the papers next to the computer, inadvertently nudging the mouse. The screen flickered awake.

  “It’ll be fun, Skye. Please say yes. It’s been too long since you stayed. Come save me from boredom.” As Skye hesitated Morgan added, “Before you say ‘no’ again, I’ve been thinking about the old days. Before your mum – you know…and you moved away. How much you loved the sea. Listen, it would be good for you to –”

  Morgan’s mother Rowena spoke indistinctly in the background. “Hang on a sec’ Skye?” Morgan said, and Skye heard the phone clunk onto a hard surface.

  Skye sat at the desk while she waited, and looked at the screen. A document bearing one typed word, Elise. Her mother’s name. She scrolled to the next page.

  Ellie has left me…to be with him.

  The room receded, the typed words filling her world.

  Ellie has left me…to be with him.

  Ellie has left me…to be with him.

  Ellie has left me…to be with him.

  As they sank in she felt like she’d been punched. Her mother had left Dad? For someone else? She scrolled further down, her hand shaky on the mouse.

  Ellie has left me…to be with him. Over and over again, pages of it. Skye felt sick. She gripped the edge of the desk, her head hanging low over the keyboard as she fought for breath. Mum had left her? Mum had left her.

  Her mother’s body had never been found. Because there hadn’t been one to find? She hadn’t drowned? No wonder Dad had never moved on. The way he loved Mum, he was probably hoping she’d come back. But – it didn’t make sense. Mum had loved Dad as much as he’d loved her. That was one thing Skye was certain of. “The day I met Daniel” she used to smile, “was the day my life began.”

  “Skye?” Morgan’s voice broke in. “I have to go, restaurant emergency. Promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

  “...Promise...” She managed to force out her reply before Morgan hung up.

  Skye’s mind was chaotic. Why couldn’t he have closed his stupid document and left her in ignorance? So much pain... She hoped she never fell in love.

  She’d been seven when her mother disappeared at Ciarlan Cove in Bannimor. For ten years Skye had tried not to think about it, to not feel anything about it. But according to this, she’d been escaping a lie. If these words were true…could she see Mum again? She screwed
her eyes up against a burst of hope, like light exploding inside.

  But if Mum was still alive, she’d had a decade to make contact.

  Her gaze fell on her mother’s treasured book, the fairy tales Skye knew backwards. Her racing thoughts came into sharp focus. Hands trembling, she opened it to where she’d left off reading: The Little Mermaid, preparing for death on the night of her Love’s wedding to another. A story of obsessive, self-sacrificial love. It had been Mum’s favourite. Suddenly Skye’s attachment to it felt like clinging to a betrayal, a cruel delusion. Flinging the book at the wall she stalked from the room.

  She got as far as the bottom stair and stopped, her ribs feeling like rubber. With a growl of exasperation, she turned back, and retrieved the book splayed on the study floor. Dismayed, she saw that the spine had slightly split and a few more pages dislodged.

  This book was still part of Mum, no matter what she’d done. Finding tape, she sat at the desk again, carefully repairing the damage, conscious of her father’s document on the screen. A pungent whiff from the spirits bottle nearby filled her nostrils.

  Ellie has left me...to be with him. She knew Dad hadn’t meant for her to see this, but as she so often did lately, she felt trapped by his sadness and reminded of her own. Or had she trapped herself? Something had to change. She needed to get away from here, from who she’d become.

  Morgan’s perpetual invitation to return to Bascath Bay in Bannimor. Maybe it was time she said yes again? Her heart constricted with its usual twist of fear and longing as she thought of the sea. Of going back.

  Bannimor had its ghosts, but it also had Morgan and Rowena. And just maybe – answers, if she could be brave enough to face them. As questions tumbled through her mind, the pull of the sea and the urge to return became irresistible. Going back wouldn’t simply be walking on her mother’s grave anymore. It could mean finding out there was no grave at all.

  2. Departures

  The next morning Skye toyed distractedly with her breakfast toast, surreptitiously observing her father. No sign he knew she’d seen his ‘Ellie has left me’ piece. And he looked none the worse for the half-bottle of spirits that had likely set him off writing it.

  She’d checked bus and ferry schedules already. Now was really the best time to do this. He was always better first thing. Walking to the percolator she tried to work out how to begin. He hated her going back to Bannimor – something he hadn’t had to worry about for the last three years. She half refilled her cup before moving to stand next to him. “Dad?”

  “Yes, honey?” He looked up from the newspaper he’d just unfolded.

  “I talked to Morgan last night.” She pretended to be interested in an article over his shoulder while she gauged his reaction.

  His face softened with a smile. “Really? How’s that café doing, what is it, Leap?”

  “Jump, Dad, not Leap,” Skye smirked, sitting down.

  “Close enough. Trust Rowena to come up with a name like that. Guess they know what they’re doing though. It’s going well, isn’t it?”

  Skye couldn’t have scripted a better opening. His face was animated as he thought of something new, of people he cared about. “I think so. But Morgan said lots has happened. Like, they’ve moved. She wouldn’t tell me over the phone. She’s missing me, really wants me there for the summer...” She tensed as her father’s expression grew pensive.

  “In Bannimor? When?”

  “Uh – for the holidays, I guess, which is officially now. There’s a bus tomorrow, or the next one rolls out in a week. So…tomorrow...?” She held her breath.

  “But Skye – I don’t know. Bannimor...”

  She knew he was thinking ‘Ciarlan Cove’. When was he not?

  “What if…” He trailed off, his expression closing in.

  “What if what, Dad?” Her voice was sharp as she faced him. “What if I drown? Don’t worry! I probably won’t even get close enough to the water for that. I can hardly think about being in the sea without practically hyperventilating. Happy?” Her voice cracked.

  They stared at each other, both white faced. His intense blue eyes widened as if seeing her properly for the first time in years.

  “You’re still scared of the sea?” he asked thickly. “It’s been…”

  “Ten years. I know.” Skye’s heart pounded. She felt like she’d crossed a line. They never talked about this stuff. About Mum. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” Her voice felt thin, like she couldn’t put any air behind it. “You should be pleased. Aren’t you the one who’s always reminding me of the ‘hungry seas’? Telling me all your facts and figures about death and the ocean?”

  He was silent, swallowing as if trying to process her words. Eventually he cleared his throat. “Right,” he managed.

  Skye’s face burned. She stared into her cup, hating herself. Why had she started this? “It’s not you. It’s kind of…nightmares.” She took a steadying breath. “When I imagine being there in the – in the sea, it feels like that. Like my nightmares,” she mumbled.

  “You still have those?” His horrified expression startled her. Of course: he’d remember those screaming awake nights ten years ago.

  “Not still. Again.” Not the screaming awake kind anymore, but she couldn’t possibly explain the different way they felt to her dad. And they were still terrifying.

  “Nightmares...of what, exactly?”

  She felt awkward. “Huge waves, darkness. Maybe it’s how I think it would have been for her. For Mum.” Her eyes stung, and she sipped coffee to mask it.

  “I had no idea, Skye. I thought you were too young to really remember. They said that it was all just a blank for you.”

  All what was a blank? But she couldn’t make herself ask out loud.

  He shook his head. “Maybe it is me, tying you up in knots with my craziness.” He sighed. “You’re such a good kid, Skye. You deserve so much better than you’ve had. Than I’ve given you.” The deep breath he took seemed painful. “It probably would be good for you to go back. Go. Remember the good times there, and have more.” He managed a smile that looked genuine.

  Astonished and relieved, Skye smiled back, impulsively kissing his cheek as she left the table. “I’ll call Morgan.”

  Passing the study as she dialled, she glanced into the empty room. The computer had been turned off, the monitor dark. Ellie has left me…to be with him. Was it true? And who was him?

  “Hey!” Morgan answered.

  “Sure you’ve got room for me?”

  “Of course! You mean it? You’re coming?” Morgan whooped, and Skye laughed, imagining her victory face.

  She took the stairs two at a time, and soon had her travel bag zipped, and her shoulder bag full of the necessities: a travel-sized sketchbook, pencils, something to read. What else?

  Stacked against the wall were her jumbles of paint tubes and brushes, and her art boards. Unfinished underwater scenes, fantasies of colour and light, like a positive twist on her nightmares. Too big to take. And maybe best left behind. Like an unbreakable habit, her mother’s old fairy tale book was already packed, along with a mystery novel she was reading.

  Anything else she might need? Holiday apartments: did that mean noisy neighbours? She got irritable if she didn’t sleep. She shouted downstairs, “Dad? Have we got earplugs?”

  There was silence for a second, then he called back, a smile in his voice, “Really? Earplugs, Grandma? Top left-hand drawer I think.”

  Skye bounced to his bedroom and searched the cluttered drawer. No earplugs. With a “tsk” of frustration she pulled it right out and shuffled things around. A tiny cardboard box was pushed into the back corner. That must be it.

  Pulling it out, she admired it. It looked old, the size of a slender matchbox, pearly cream with sky blue edging. Lifting the lid, she went still. It wasn’t earplugs.

  Sinking onto the edge of the bed, fingers trembling, she lifted her mother’s lost necklace from the box. Miniscule golden links glistened as it
slowly spun. Threaded on it were two familiar twisted rings of white shell. She rested them on her palm. One, flecked with pink and fawn, felt light enough to blow away. That was weird. Skye remembered it being heavy, as if carved from some dense precious material. Nestled against it, the other, pure white, Dad had given Mum when they fell in love, romance village-style.

  Mum had missed this not long before she’d disappeared. Skye remembered the hunt for it and her mother’s desperation. She’d been distraught. They’d all helped look, but it had vanished. Eventually it had been forgotten. Or had it been found? Because here it was.

  Mum never took it off. But she hadn’t been wearing it that day. That last day.

  But how could Skye know that? And yet she did. Her mother had gone into the stormy sea without this necklace around her neck. Skye could see her as clearly as if she’d been there herself.

  Her skin prickled and she stood abruptly. She didn’t want to think about this. Hesitating, she stared at the necklace. Then drawing the delicate chain over her head, she slipped it beneath her T-shirt. Returning the empty box to the drawer as close as possible to the way it had been, she left the room, her cheeks hot and her heart thumping, earplugs forgotten.

  That evening her father took a break from writing, joining her to watch TV, no drink in hand. It was awkward at first, but eventually they relaxed, watching an old Mike Myers movie they’d both seen before, laughing and groaning in equal measure. It felt – well – great. Normal. Skye almost regretted the pending trip.

  But the next morning as the bus pulled away and she waved goodbye, relief flooded her, tinged with guilt.

  Hours later Skye woke to the jostling murmur of other passengers gathering possessions and commenting on the town passing by. She stretched, and the necklace beneath her T-shirt shifted against her skin. The necklace. And her dad’s inexplicable document. Her stomach squirreled sickly.

  Forcing her thoughts away, Skye stared resolutely out of the window as the bus swung through the familiar streets of Fallsmouth. A few more blocks and they’d be disembarking at the wharf. And then she would board the ferry for Bannimor. She felt jittery, excited.