A Stranger on the Beach(60)

“Jason, honey,” I said to his voicemail. “I’m on my way to the beach house. The neighbor says the alarm’s going off and the front door blew open. The police are too busy with other calls to respond. The roads are terrible. I wanted you to know where I was. I’m scared of what I might find, and I wish you were with me. Is there any way you could come out here? Hannah is with Lynn, and she’s safe. Call me. I love you. Bye.”

It took two hours longer than usual to get to Montauk Highway, which normally would have been deserted at this time of night in October. But traffic was backed up here, too. The closer I got to Glenhampton, the slower I went, but I couldn’t turn around, because there were cars in front and behind going in both directions. When eventually I got to the front of the line and saw what the obstacle was, I broke out in a cold sweat. The road ahead was completely flooded. Around me, several vehicles had washed out. In front of me, a man jumped out of his stalled car and sank into waist-deep water as the car beached itself on the side of the road. A man in a rain poncho waving a flashlight beckoned me forward. He wasn’t a cop as far as I could tell. And I wasn’t driving into a flood at the behest of some bystander. I shook my head, and he walked right up to my car and pounded on the window.

“Go!” he screamed.

I did, only because I was more afraid of him than of the flood. I hit the accelerator, and the Escalade lurched forward. Water lapped at my tires, and the engine started making choking noises, like it was about to die. For a terrifying moment, I felt the Escalade float. I ripped off my seat belt, heart pounding, getting ready to abandon ship. But a second later I felt the tires gain traction again and saw pavement. The road ahead was clear. I stepped on the gas and got the hell out of there.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the circular driveway at the beach house. The rain was coming down hard. Trees were swaying in the wind, and leaves were blowing wildly. I was limp with nerves and bathed in sweat after the awful drive. The condition of the house was as Francine had described. The front door stood open. Lights blazed from inside the house. The burglar alarm was still shrieking. The local police must still be occupied responding to the storm, since, despite my earlier phone call, they obviously hadn’t made it out here.

I stopped to ask myself whether I could possibly have left the house like this: lights on, door unlocked, so it could blow open and trigger the alarm? I thought back to when I last left here. That was the night Aidan followed me to the restaurant and barged in on our family dinner. But that came later. At the time I left the house, I’d been running out to see the divorce lawyer, to get the papers to serve on Jason. I was calm about my decision. I was running late, but I wasn’t flustered, and I didn’t panic. I locked up properly, like I always did. I was sure of it.

It wasn’t me who’d left the house in this condition. Somebody had been in there since, without my permission. An intruder. An intruder who wanted to send a message. Why else leave the door wide open and the lights on? Who could it be but Aidan? My house blazed with light, but the rest of the street was dark. Nobody was home on the bluff. They were smarter than me and had cleared out in the face of the storm, with the exception of my neighbor, Francine, who would be of little help if Aidan was inside waiting for me. I knew I had to confront him. His behavior was escalating, to the point where he’d contacted my daughter. Hannah was safe with Lynn for now, but he could try that again. And next time, he might hurt her.

I stepped out of the car into driving wind and rain, my legs rubbery after the hellish five-hour trip. Here at the ocean, the storm was more powerful than ever, and I was soaked instantly, my raincoat plastered against my legs, my hair streaming, water running into my eyes. I staggered up to the wide-open front door, stopping on the threshold to take in the damage. The beautiful Tibetan carpet was soaked and matted. A lamp had been knocked over, and framed photos from the side tables had blown down and lay scattered across the floor. There were streaks of mud everywhere, and shards of glass, from the lamp or maybe the picture frames. A gust blew through the room, sending light fixtures swaying, and leaves and twigs skittering across the white-oak floors. Was this damage done deliberately, or was it simply the wind that had blown in the door and knocked things around?

The alarm was so loud that I couldn’t think straight. From habit, I reached in and tapped the code into the keypad beside the door. The shrieking stopped instantly, but then I realized what I’d done. If Aidan was in the house and heard the alarm shut off, he’d know I was here. I’d given myself away.

Panicking, I backed out the door. But as I turned toward my car, a gust of wind hit so hard that it sent me staggering. Simultaneously, a loud crack sounded. I watched in horror as an enormous tree limb came crashing down onto my car, shattering the windshield into a thousand tiny pieces. I turned and ran back inside, grabbing the front doorknob with both hands, using my body as a counterweight to yank it shut. The wind died from a howl to a dull roar, and I turned and leaned against the door, panting. I couldn’t go back out there. The wind was tossing around debris big enough to kill me. But the car was undrivable with a shattered windshield.

I was trapped here.

The house was not safe. Aidan could be hiding anywhere. He knew his way around, and I had nobody to blame for that but myself. My nerves tight as a drum, my heart beating frantically, I took out my phone to call the police. They hadn’t responded to my earlier call because nobody was in danger. I could very well be in danger now.