Miss You Mad: a psychological romance novel by Thea Atkinson Page B
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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live on the net."
"Sorry, unable to deliver."
And most incriminating:
"Have you transferred that money for Miss. Hastings to the Yarmouth branch?"
William squeezed his eyes shut. No, no it couldn't be. She hadn't left the city. She wasn't gone. He was vaguely aware that the clerk touched his arm. Something inside William screamed. Something let loose and began rattling.
"Are you okay?" Came another voice. One that sounded like the clerk's.
William gasped and looked up. The male clerk looked concerned; he chewed the inside of his mouth.
William wanted to nod. Not so, my lord; he wanted to say to the man. I am too much i' the sun.
The clerk backed away. "What in the hell are you talking about? I'm no lord."
That thing that rattled around inside wouldn't whispered straight through senses, down his arms, to his hands, his fingers. Those fingers curled, and clenched. The nails dug into his palms.
"Hey man," the clerk said. "Are you okay?"
"No I'm not okay." Came a voice that didn't sound like his own. It was harsh and loud. All is not well.
Hamlet knew. Hamlet knew that things were not as they should be and William listened to that voice. It drove him straight out of the cafe and onto the street where the throngs of people jostled him and stole his breath. Those people stared at him and crossed themselves as if he were evil. Some of them sneered; some growled like feral beasts. William's heart tapped against his rib cage. It tapped harder, faster. Something inside told him to run. Run fast.
And all because of the painting on the wall. The painting that looked exactly like the one Hannah was working on. What did it mean? Had she, like the bank teller suggested, gone to Yarmouth? And Yarmouth was where? Down the street? Across town?
Across country?
We took Hannah's rental car out to Pembroke. I knew my way in the dark to that spot as well as I knew my own garden. The moon, though it wasn't full, offered plenty of light. Once past the hospital, we came to a wharf and derelict fishing shanties.
"Look at those shadows," Hannah murmured as she slowed the car to a crawl. She pointed to a large dark void created by stacked lobster traps.
"God. Look at that." This time she stopped the car in the middle of the road. Without bothering to pull over to the shoal, she jumped out and scrambled up the small hill to a falling down building. I knew what was inside; I'd been here plenty. I wondered what she'd think of the cache of forgotten barrels.
I slipped over to the driver's seat and stuck the car in gear. Within seconds, I pulled into the dirt driveway that had she been patient enough, would have noticed made a path straight up the middle of the village of deserted but not abandoned shanties. At one time they'd been used as living quarters by poor fishermen, but were now utilised, quite practically, as storage sheds by wealthier ones--lobster bringing a prettier penny these days.
Turning off the engine, I rolled down the window. Peepers peeped. I cleared my throat and gave a shout.
"What did you find?"
Nothing came back. Only the song of tiny frogs. I got out.
"Hannah?"
She made a delighted squeak; it came from around the bend. I smiled. Couldn't help myself. I knew she'd found the tumbling building whose roof bent in the middle as if it were the curve of a woman's waist. That unpainted, long unused building stored barrels upon barrels upon barrels. Some stood like little soldiers outside; most piled high on top of each other, were inside, visible through the paneless window. If she liked shadows, she'd find plenty there.
I shuffled my way up the path and found her staring into the darkness between the sentry barrels. "Look, Daniel." She crouched so that her eye level was about the middle of the barrels. "Look at the view of the water between these." She motioned me closer. Hunkering next to her, I peeked out of the shadow created by the barrels and into the black water.
"If you think of the moonlight on the water
"Sorry, unable to deliver."
And most incriminating:
"Have you transferred that money for Miss. Hastings to the Yarmouth branch?"
William squeezed his eyes shut. No, no it couldn't be. She hadn't left the city. She wasn't gone. He was vaguely aware that the clerk touched his arm. Something inside William screamed. Something let loose and began rattling.
"Are you okay?" Came another voice. One that sounded like the clerk's.
William gasped and looked up. The male clerk looked concerned; he chewed the inside of his mouth.
William wanted to nod. Not so, my lord; he wanted to say to the man. I am too much i' the sun.
The clerk backed away. "What in the hell are you talking about? I'm no lord."
That thing that rattled around inside wouldn't whispered straight through senses, down his arms, to his hands, his fingers. Those fingers curled, and clenched. The nails dug into his palms.
"Hey man," the clerk said. "Are you okay?"
"No I'm not okay." Came a voice that didn't sound like his own. It was harsh and loud. All is not well.
Hamlet knew. Hamlet knew that things were not as they should be and William listened to that voice. It drove him straight out of the cafe and onto the street where the throngs of people jostled him and stole his breath. Those people stared at him and crossed themselves as if he were evil. Some of them sneered; some growled like feral beasts. William's heart tapped against his rib cage. It tapped harder, faster. Something inside told him to run. Run fast.
And all because of the painting on the wall. The painting that looked exactly like the one Hannah was working on. What did it mean? Had she, like the bank teller suggested, gone to Yarmouth? And Yarmouth was where? Down the street? Across town?
Across country?
We took Hannah's rental car out to Pembroke. I knew my way in the dark to that spot as well as I knew my own garden. The moon, though it wasn't full, offered plenty of light. Once past the hospital, we came to a wharf and derelict fishing shanties.
"Look at those shadows," Hannah murmured as she slowed the car to a crawl. She pointed to a large dark void created by stacked lobster traps.
"God. Look at that." This time she stopped the car in the middle of the road. Without bothering to pull over to the shoal, she jumped out and scrambled up the small hill to a falling down building. I knew what was inside; I'd been here plenty. I wondered what she'd think of the cache of forgotten barrels.
I slipped over to the driver's seat and stuck the car in gear. Within seconds, I pulled into the dirt driveway that had she been patient enough, would have noticed made a path straight up the middle of the village of deserted but not abandoned shanties. At one time they'd been used as living quarters by poor fishermen, but were now utilised, quite practically, as storage sheds by wealthier ones--lobster bringing a prettier penny these days.
Turning off the engine, I rolled down the window. Peepers peeped. I cleared my throat and gave a shout.
"What did you find?"
Nothing came back. Only the song of tiny frogs. I got out.
"Hannah?"
She made a delighted squeak; it came from around the bend. I smiled. Couldn't help myself. I knew she'd found the tumbling building whose roof bent in the middle as if it were the curve of a woman's waist. That unpainted, long unused building stored barrels upon barrels upon barrels. Some stood like little soldiers outside; most piled high on top of each other, were inside, visible through the paneless window. If she liked shadows, she'd find plenty there.
I shuffled my way up the path and found her staring into the darkness between the sentry barrels. "Look, Daniel." She crouched so that her eye level was about the middle of the barrels. "Look at the view of the water between these." She motioned me closer. Hunkering next to her, I peeked out of the shadow created by the barrels and into the black water.
"If you think of the moonlight on the water
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