6 - The body
CLAIRE
For a while,I kept walking towards the lighthouse , until I realized the town was already slipping behind me.
The little lights I’d seen before were fading, one by one, until there was nothing but gray sky and shadows.
For someone who had just been in town for a few days,The only reason I didn’t feel completely lost was the lighthouse itself. It was impossible to miss
I honestly commended myself for that much—me, of all people, managing to keep track of something. I wasn’t someone blessed with a photographic memory. Daniel used to tease me about that, how I could forget where I left my keys but never the exact shade of his tie.
I groaned under my breath, hating that he’d slipped back into my thoughts again.
Still, I kept the sea to my left and aimed for the tall white outline ahead. Even without its lantern lit, the lighthouse stood clear against the dim sky, it was stubborn and impossible to miss—unlike me.
I tried to go back over everything I had learned today, piece by piece, as if keeping my mind busy would stop me from drifting into my life back in L.A
Holt had been furious with me, but I knew his anger wasn’t just anger—there was something under it, something he hadn’t meant to show. And the old man… his words had slipped too.He had said more than he should have.
They had both tried to warn me off in their own way, but at the same time, they had both pointed me here.
To the lighthouse.
As soon as the cliffs came into view, I felt myself slow down. They rose up hard and jagged, walls of stone wet with streaks of dark water. It looked like a place built to keep people away.
The tide was out now, dragging the sea back and leaving the rocks bare. I scanned the shoreline carefully, not sure what I was hoping to see.
The cliffs weren’t friendly ground. Every step closer felt like I was daring them to swallow me whole.
My boots slipped on the wet patches, and I had to brace myself more than once against the wind that came rolling in off the water.
It was colder here and I regretted,not coming with a coat.
I scanned the rocks, my eyes were catching on every shift of shadow. But there was no one. No lantern swinging in the dusk, no figure moving against the cliff face, nothing to prove this place belonged to people at all.
Still, I kept going.
The old man’s voice rang in my head, he was so certain when he’d spoken Cal’s name. “Night after night, like a moth to the flame. Never worked it, never earned it. Just stared. Like he was waiting for it to save him”
It had sounded so simple when he said it, like it was so easy to get to the lighthouse.
But looking at the sheer rock walls, even at the winding and narrow path that cut its way along the cliffside, it was hard to picture anyone choosing to climb up here every night just for the sake of it.
I stopped more than once, scanning again with my eyes straining for any sign of human life. Maybe a boot print in the damp earth.
But the ground was scoured clean by the wind. If Cal had been here, he’d left no trace behind.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “You’ve got to be here.”
The lighthouse stood above me now with its round walls catching the last of the gray light. From this angle, it looked less like a beacon and more like a watchman, something set here to look down on everyone else. The windows were blank with no flicker of a lamp,
I circled the base, slowly and carefully, as if expecting someone to step out. My hand brushed the cold walls.
I pressed my ear to the wood of the heavy door, half-hoping to catch a shuffle of boots inside, or the sound of someone moving about. Nothing.
Just the sound of the wind moving through cracks.
I walked the perimeter twice, then three times. I felt frustrated but then I checked the cliff edge,
That was when I saw it.
A shape.
At first I thought it was driftwood, caught between the stones. But the longer I looked, the less it seemed like wood. It seemed heavy. Too still to be anything but—
My breath caught in my throat.
I froze ,staring at it. The rational part of me whispered that it could be anything—netting, debris, even an animal washed up from the sea.
But my instincts already could tell it wasn’t.
I scanned the cliff edge. looking for a way down. There was a narrow cut in the rock, it was a trail worn by time, maybe by goats or fishermen. It zigzagged toward the base. It was wet and steep. Definitely not meant for anyone in their right mind.
I went anyway.
The climb down was slow. My hand held onto the wall of stone beside me, slick with moss and spray. Pebbles rattled loose beneath my boots and tumbled down ahead of me. My body was tense.
Halfway down, my foot slipped.
The moss gave way under me, and suddenly the ground was gone. My body slammed sideways into the cliff. Pain burst all across my vision as the side of my head struck stone.
For a moment the world tilted, spinning, and my ears rang loud as thunder.
Still I held onto the rock, breathing through the pain, forcing myself to stay upright. Warmth trickled down the side of my face—blood. Not much, but it was enough to remind me how close I’d come.
I calmed myself down, and kept going.
By the time I reached the bottom, my hands were raw with wounds. But the shape was closer now. Clearer.
It wasn’t driftwood.
It was a body.
I stepped carefully across the slick rocks, my heart beating heavy in my chest. My eyes stayed on the figure. The figure lay sprawled across the jagged stone, his limbs bent in ways they shouldn’t be.
Clothes torn, soaked through and plastered against his pale skin. Seaweed were tangled in his arms and legs.
I bent down, keeping my balance on the wet ground.
A boy.
No more than twenty. His face was battered, but still young, too young to be Cal. His lips were blue, his skin washed pale. His eyes half-open, staring at nothing.
My throat tightened, but my mind stayed clear. I had seen bodies before. Too many. The trick was to separate what you felt from what you saw.
Details. Always details.
There was a cut across his forehead, deep enough to bleed but not washed away by the sea. Dark and round bruises on his forearms,like he’d been grabbed. One wrist was bent wrong and the bone was swollen beneath the skin.
His face was battered, the kind of damage that spoke of more than just one blow. The skin around his left eye was split and purpled,it was swelling so badly it had nearly shut the lid.
The boy just didn't fall from here. The tide didn't take him. This was done by someone with the intention of killing.
I looked around me. The rocks, the cliffs, the water pulling back and forth. It felt like being sealed inside a room, just me, the boy, and the endless sound of waves.
My skin prickled. The back of my neck itched with the feeling of being watched. Still, I forced myself to stay calm.
I crouched lower, studying the boy’s clothes. His boots were old, worn at the toes and soles peeling away. A working boy. A fisherman, maybe. Someone local.
Someone the town had let vanish into the sea.
I leaned back, My hand went to my pocket. Thankfully my phone was there.
I pulled it out, thumb hovering over the screen. I didn’t have the number—of course I didn’t. New town, new rules. My chest tightened.
I opened the browser, typed Grayhaven dispatch with fingers that wanted to shake. The signal lagged with the little wheel spinning far too long, until finally a result popped up.
It was a bland government site. I skimmed fast, found the number buried beneath office hours and mailing addresses.
I pressed call before I could lose my nerve.
“This is Claire Monroe,” I said. The detective’s voice. “I’m reporting a body. Male, early twenties. Found at low tide on the rocks below Grayhaven cliffs. Injuries suggest foul play. I’ll remain on scene until deputies arrive.”
The dispatcher repeated the details back to me. “Copy, Ms. Monroe. Stay safe. Units are on the way.”
I ended the call. Slipped the phone back into my pocket.
Then I looked again at the boy.
Not Cal. But someone’s son. Someone’s blood. Someone whose name this town already knew, even if they would never say it aloud.
The sea hadn’t taken him. The town had. And now they would know that I had found him.