Megan could almost smell the salt air. It had been four years since she had visited the beach house, but now that she was headed back there, she could remember every sound, every smell, every sensation of the beach. She hungered for it now, despite the events that had led to her long absence.
She turned off the Interstate onto the small county road that led to the village of Hilo—named in honor of the owner of the only gas station in town, who had inexplicably moved away from the island state to an area that actually had winter, even if it was shorter and milder than Megan had grown up with in Minnesota.
Megan cruised through Hilo, then turned the corner onto the last road in her long journey. The pavement ended and the rumbling of gravel under her tires brought back a vivid memory of the song she was listening to the last time she drove this way. Sweet Emotion, the best song Aerosmith had ever recorded. She had listened to it on an old CD at the time, but now she pressed a few buttons on her satellite radio and had Stephen Tyler’s voice blasting out of her speakers in half a minute.
The shore was just ahead now. Megan passed by the first beach house in a row of eight, and saw the diving board that marked the location of the derelict pool of her former neighbor. A beautiful house near a perfect beach, and he had a pool! Well, not anymore. The steadily shifting sands had filled it almost completely, and appeared to have filled half the living room that was visible through the remains of the glass doors.
The next house was hidden behind a high stone wall. Though not visible from ground level, Megan knew that wall was topped with ground glass. She remembered Hector’s cries of pain when he had discovered that extra touch of security.
The next two houses were neatly shuttered against the possibility of storms or vandals. With their neutral color, they looked much as they had four years ago. Of course, Megan knew that nothing was the same as it had been before…
Megan slowed her Sunbird and weaved back and forth around the potholes that had taken over the last part of the road. She ignored the other houses in the row as she remembered that summer. It had been a perfect vacation, two weeks of complete relaxation until…
Would there be anything left to find? If the computer was still there, would she be able to recover the video from the hard drive?
Megan stood on the brakes. The house was still a hundred yards ahead, but a black Charger was parked in the driveway. He had arrived first. Megan sat motionless for almost a minute, then slowly removed her hands from the steering wheel, picked up the nine-millimeter automatic from the seat beside her, and got out of the car to meet her destiny.
Afterword
I wrote this story in one sitting back in 2012. I think it was initiated by an online writing prompt. It’s one of the few works I’ve published; it was added to a digital anthology soon after I wrote it. It’s not a complete story, just a jumping-off point. If anyone wants to speculate on what Megan will find at the beach house, I’d be interested to know your thoughts.
Copyright 2012 by Violet Beckingham, all rights reserved
I Am Violet 