Maya thrust herself backwards, trying to topple her and her attacker over. He was taller than her. Strong. He felt her pulling her down. Pulling them both down.
And then she felt his hand leave her mouth. His weight lifted off her.
She spun around and saw the small scar barely noticeable through his left brow, and immediately recognized him from the party.
He put his finger to his lips urging her to stay quiet.
"What the hell?! Are you kidding me with this?" She hit him in the shoulder and shoved him. Hard. But she didn't run.
He motioned for her to try to stay quiet. "Please, I'm sorry. Did you find the necklace?"
Maya blinked. Her heart was thudding, head spinning. The adrenaline rush was still in her blood. She was aware her body was trembling.
The boy with the scar was calm, but looking at her intently with his pale amber eyes.
"How did you know about the necklace?" Then she added, "It was you who sent me that message, wasn't it? How did you get my number?"
The questions were flooding through her and out her mouth before she realized she may be staring face-to-face with Arilla's killer.
"Alex gave you my number," Maya concluded. They were both on the same football team. Both were wearing football letterman jackets.
"No. He didn't exactly give it to me," the boy with the scar said. "I sort of took it. When he wasn't paying attention, before his screen locked, I grabbed your number when he told me about you."
Maya looked at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"After you guys met, he came over to my place after practice to pre-game before Cairo's party. He basically told me he met you earlier and invited you to the party."
Maya inadvertently took a small step away from him. "You knew Arilla was going to be murdered. That's why you sent me the text message."
"No!" he blurted. "I knew something was going to happen. I just didn't know what. This town is full of drama and danger. I try to warn all the new people to keep a low profile and stay away as much as possible. Bad things happen here. A lot of people get hurt."
"You do realize how crazy you sound."
"That's what all the new kids say. They never listen, and they end up paying for it. Sometimes with their lives. They get involved with the wrong people." There was a genuine heartfelt pain in his voice. A kind of weight that only came from experience.
Maya was listening now. And she believed him. He wasn't lying. She'd only been in Bridgeport for three-and-a-half days and already was involved with a murder and in trouble with her mom, again.
Maya looked at him. Everything about him other than the scar was plain. A shade of brown hair that didn't really look like any color at all. Pale skin with a few freckles. Even his clothes were drab. But the letterman jacket — .
"Aren't you supposed to be at football practice right now?"
"I needed to talk to you. I saw you take Arilla's necklace, but you didn't tell the police. I was suspicious you had something to do with her murder."
Maya's eyes narrowed. "You saw me take it, and you didn't tell the police either."
The boy with the scar searched her eyes, trying to read her. "There's only two reasons you didn't tell. One, because you were involved with her murder somehow and wanted to cover up the evidence against you, or two, you have your own suspicions. And since your new and from somewhere very far, it's unlikely if not impossible that you would have any connection to Arilla substantial enough to kill her."
"You could've just talked to me," Maya said, annoyed.
The boy's eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't know any other way to reach out to you, and when I saw you at the party, you were the only person I didn't recognize. By then it was too late. Do you still have the necklace?"
"It's in a safe place." Maya said. Then she added, "if something happened to me, the necklace will turn up."
"It's in your pocket, isn't it," he said.
Maya was silent. "No . . . "
"Well I definitely know you're not the killer," he smiled. "You're a terrible liar."
Maya was still for a moment. Then she laughed. Uneasy and nervous.
"Keep the necklace safe. I know you're as desperate as I am to find the truth about Arilla. I'm planning to go Mariner's Rest to do some digging." The boy with the scar turned slightly and took a few steps back.
Maya thought for a moment. "When are you going?"
He turned over his shoulder. "Right now." He began to walk away and once again turned. "You coming?"
In his small, beaten Toyota pickup, Maya sat in the passenger seat watching the tall pine trees pass by, and the white puffy clouds grow puffier as they rode over the pass and began to make their descent. It was still warm out, despite the ocean breeze, and with every passing mile the smell of seaweed and salt grew stronger, and felt the air grow humid.
"I'm Ethan, by the way. And you're Maya. Again, I apologize for scaring you with that text. And again just now. It's just that I've learned when I try to warn people directly, they usually blow me off. Or sometimes threaten me. I found that scaring them away has more effective result."
"I'll forgive you when we find out what happened to Arilla." Maya looked at him. "If you got my number out of his phone without him knowing, did you happen to see any other suspicious conversations?"
Ethan thought for a moment. "No, nothing out of the ordinary. Video games. Football stuff. I mean, I wasn't exactly looking through his phone to spy on him."
"You didn't see any messages from anyone named, 'Hawk'?"
His expression furrowed. He looked at her and then back to scanning the road.
"Who is Hawk?" Maya asked.
Ethan cocked his head to the side, contemplating his next words. "Do you know?" He asked. "Did you snoop through his phone?"
"I wasn't exactly looking through his phone to spy on him," Maya threw his words back at him.
"Damn. It's like the whole world has access to his phone. That guy . . . How much did you see?"
"Enough."
"So how did you feel about it?"
Maya grew tense. When she didn't respond, Ethan glanced at her again. Seeing her growing increasingly worried, he said, "It's OK. You can relax. I'm Hawk. It's his nickname for me. Alex has nicknames for all the guys on the team. He calls me Hawk because of my wingspan." Ethan kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other he stretched out to the passenger seat where Maya was sitting. "I'm lanky. I've got long limbs. Long sleeves are more like three-quarter sleeves to me. It's why my clothes are usually baggy. I've got to buy them one or two sizes larger."
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Maya laughed. "Ethan. Ethan Hawke. Funny."
Mariner's Rest was a charming fishing community. Rows of creaky docks, floated between beaches occupied by small clusters of people. The waterfront was lined with old wooden weather-worn boutique shops, bait shops, and pirate-themed gift stores. A building shaped like a windmill over a small harbor offered whale-watching excursions. A pirate flag blew in the wind on top. She could smell saltwater taffy and fried foots mixed with the salty air. She was surprised to see how picturesque it was, but how small it was, tucked away between the mountains. They passed under a wooden archway signifying they had entered the waterfront commercial district. A sign read: MARINER'S REST HISTORIC DOWNTOWN" with a population sign of 1,869 people. Bidgeport was nearly 5,000.
The sugary scent of waffle cones and bubblegum ice cream assaulted Maya as she and Ethan pushed open the aged glass door of Salty's Scoops. A wave of nostalgia crashed over her – sticky fingers, childhood laughter, the promise of summer adventures. But the air inside held a different edge today, a prickling tension that snagged at the back of her throat.
Mariner's Rest wasn't Bridgeport. Here, faded glory clung to everything like dust on forgotten trophies. The ice cream parlor was no exception. Crimson red Naugahyde booths cracked at the seams, and glittering black championship banners hung limply from the ceiling, boasting of past victories for the "Krakens," Mariner's Rest High's football team. One banner, prominently displayed, featured a monstrous red and black Kraken mascot with glowing yellow eyes. It seemed to leer down at them, a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of this insular town.
A boisterous laugh erupted from a booth in the back corner, drawing Maya's eye. There, amidst a group of equally loud teenagers, sat a boy clad in a crimson and black Kraken letterman jacket. He held court, his booming voice punctuated by playful shoves and exaggerated gestures.
Maya leaned into Ethan. "That's obviously Mark," she said.
"How could you tell?" Ethan rolled his eyes.
He wasn't what Maya expected. He wasn't as tall as the other football players, but he was built with a perfect Adonis body, stocky, but shredded with wavy rich brown hair that shined as if it were silk, and confident demeanor in his movements. But there was a harsh edge to his laughter, a flicker of something cruel in his blazing brown eyes that made her skin prickle.
As if sensing her gaze, Mark turned his head, his smile faltering for a brief moment before snapping back into place. He nudged the girl next to him, whispering something that sent a ripple of giggles through the group.
"How did you know he'd be here?" Maya asked, as they walked up to the counter.
"I didn't. But this is a popular place, especially in the summer."
The menu was mounted on the wall. There were at least two and a half doze ice cream flavors. All the basic ones, but many unique ones she'd never tried: strawberry balsamic, pumpkin and chai, and even an olive oil ice cream topped dill pickle sorbet. It reminded her of her favorite ice cream spot in Los Angeles, Salt 'n Straw.
A kindly-looking woman with a nametag reading "Betty" approached them from the other side of the counter.
"Welcome! What can I tempt you two with today?" she beamed.
Ethan flashed a charming smile. "We're taking our time deciding, Betty. Maybe you can tell us a little about the local legends. Any ghosts or mysteries Mariner's Rest likes to keep hidden?"
Betty's smile faltered slightly. "Oh, well, you know, all these little maritime villages have their secrets. Mountain ones too, I suppose." She winked at them conspiratorially before moving on to another customer. Lines were forming out the door.
Maya exchanged a glance with Ethan. The air in the ice cream parlor suddenly felt thick with unspoken secrets. The playful banter from Mark's group seemed to grate on her nerves now, each booming laugh a challenge, a dare to unearth the truth. It felt strange to just walk up to their table like idiots and accuse him — of what exactly? So they took their shakes outside and stood next to a bench along the beach that faced the ocean. They could approach him there more directly without disrupting the entire ice cream parlor.
"We need to talk to him. Find out why Arilla was hanging out at a Brigeport party.." Maya's voice rose a pitch. "If I wait, sit on my hands while he struts around like he owns the place, it'll drive me crazy."
"Maya, Arilla wasn't hanging out at the Bridgeport party," Ethan said. "Didn't you hear?"
Maya shot him a curious look.
"Arilla was dead before the party. Someone strangled her in one location then moved her body into the house while everyone was passed out. No one saw a thing. And those who thought they saw something were too fucked up to be sure they saw anything. And it was dark."
Maya remained silent for a moment. "Alright," she said. "But let's be smart about this. We need a plan . . . "
They watched as Mark and the other Krakens filtered out of the Salty's Scoops and headed toward the beach.
"The necklace," she murmured, the thought striking her like a bolt of lightning. "We ask him about the moon necklace."
Ethan blinked. "Clever. Not too confrontational, might throw him off guard if he's hiding something."
A spark of dark excitement surged through Maya. "And if he blows us off?"
"Then," Ethan said, meeting her eyes with a flicker of shared understanding, "we'll know we've hit a nerve."
Plan in place, they scanned the crowd again. Their target wasn't hard to find. The red and black of the Kraken jacket practically glowed in the distance, a beacon of arrogance calling them forward. A grim smile touched Maya's lips. It was time to rattle the king of Mariner's Rest.
The beach stretched out before them, a vast expanse of sand merging with the hazy horizon. The raucous crowds near the boardwalk had thinned, leaving a scattering of sunbathers and the rhythmic crash of waves as a desolate backdrop. It was the perfect setting for a tense showdown.
Mark and his group were sprawled on a cluster of beach towels, their laughter echoing slightly hollow in the open space. Maya took a fortifying breath, ignoring the tremor in her hand Let's do this," she muttered to Ethan. He nodded, a quiet presence at her side as they approached Mark's group.
Mark spotted them first, a flicker of recognition passing over his features before his cocky grin returned. "What the hell are you doing here, Ethan?" He turned to Maya.
She realized he was looking her up and down, checking her out.
"Who's your girl?" Mark asked.
"I'm not his girl. And my name is Maya."
Mark nodded. "What do you guys want?"
"I wanted to ask you something," Maya said, showing no sign of intimidation.
"Shoot. Let's see if I'm in the mood to answer."
Maya ignored the way her heart pounded against her ribs. She stepped closer, her voice low and accusatory. "Did you buy Arilla a gift this summer? A necklace, maybe?"
The grin slid from Mark's face. His gaze darted nervously towards his friends, seeking support, but they watched with varying degrees of confusion and unease. The isolation of the beach suddenly amplified the tension.
Mark hesitated, a flicker of panic replacing the bravado. He was on the defensive now, his kingdom of sand crumbling around him.
Mark stepped forward. "How stupid do you think I am. I've been questioned by the police enough already. I don't need it from you and Nancy Drew over here."
His friends shifted, a mixture of unease and misplaced loyalty evident on their faces. A girl with a mass of sun-streaked blonde curls stepped forward hesitantly. "Chill out, Mark. They're just asking..."
"The hell they are!" Mark cut her off, his face flushed with anger. "You don't know this girl, Becca. Don't know what she's trying to pull. "
Maya felt a flicker of doubt. But then, Arilla's face flashed through her mind, the vacant stare a chilling reminder.
"Easy there, guys," Ethan interjected, his voice smooth but laced with a subtle warning. "We're just having a conversation. No need for hostility."
Mark scoffed, but Ethan's calm seemed to slightly temper his rage. Maya seized the moment. "We found something that may have belonged to her."
One of Mark's friends, a bulky guy with a shaved head, took a step towards Maya. "Look, we don't know what you're talking about. Time for you guys to buzz off."
But Maya didn't budge. This bully tactic wasn't working. In fact, it solidified her resolve. "We're not leaving until we know what happened to Arilla," she said.
Mark's anger exploded. "You don't know anything about Arilla! And you have no right to come here and accuse me!" His voice was a near-snarl. Veins pulsed in his thick neck, one fist clenched at his side. The other pointing at them.
Fear, a cold prickle, ran down Maya's spine. She realized, with a jolt, that she might have underestimated Mark. This wasn't just arrogance; there was a dangerous edge to his temper.
Just then, a booming voice cut through the charged atmosphere. A weathered-looking man, with a lifeguard whistle around his neck, strode towards them.
"Hey! What's all this ruckus?" he boomed. Mark's shoulders slumped slightly. The situation had taken an unexpected turn.
Frustration gnawed at Maya's gut. "Alright, I need you all to break whatever this is up," the lifeguard commanded.
Ethan offered a placating smile. "Yeah, no worries. Just a friendly chat."
Maya debated her next move. Backing down felt like surrender, yet the lifeguard's presence effectively shut down further questioning. She had one last shot.
Reaching into her pocket, Maya retrieved the Arilla's necklace. "Actually," Maya said, "we found this necklace at Cairo's house the morning after she died." Her gaze landed squarely on Mark.
Mark flinched. For a split second a subtle twitch of pain appeared subtle on his face. Then his expression twisted to anger. "I don't know anything about it."
Disappointment clawed at her, but the lifeguard's stern expression left her with little choice. With a final, searing look at Mark, she turned to leave.
As they walked away, the rhythmic crash of the waves seemed to mock their failure. They'd gotten nowhere, and worse, alerted Mark to their suspicions.
"He's lying," Ethan muttered, his voice low.
"I know," Maya replied. "But the lifeguard . . ."
"A dead end," Ethan finished her thought. He paused, then said, "We can't let him win. We need a new plan. And maybe," he added, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "someone to distract the lifeguard while we do some digging."
A spark of hope flickered in Maya's chest. Their confrontation on the beach had revealed more than just Mark's hostility; it had revealed their own unwavering determination to find the truth.
Walking with Ethan back to his Toyota, she shifted her gaze from the beach. He seemed vacant. Even a bit worried. When he dropped her off at her home on the outskirts of Bridgeport, he stopped her just as she was stepping out of his truck.
He stared at her dead in the eyes, his gaze serious, and tone low and deep. "Be careful, Maya. I've got a very bad feeling."