Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Gravel kicks up under the wheels as I race my bike onto the road and out of the dunes, where I turn so hard and fast onto the highway that my bike leans almost parallel with the road. Bat out of hell on a live-or-die recon mission. My phone is in the clip, and I instruct it to dial Donavan on the off chance he’s in the area.
“Cliffton, how many graves we digging tonight?” he answers the phone.
“I need backup. Luna Park in Coney Island.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You stacking bodies tonight, bro.”
“I’m about to burn the whole mother fucker down if I don’t get my woman.”
“Ten-four.”
With that, I step on the gas and open throttle on the Sunrise Highway, weaving in and out between the occasional cars which honk their horns like I’m a threat to their immediate safety. They’re right. I am.
I make it to Brooklyn in record time and screech down Surf Avenue under the elevated train until I see the ominous shadow of the giant Wonder Wheel in the distance.
Somewhere, deep in my heart, I hold treasured memories of coming here in the summertime with my mom. The break from the unrelenting city heat waves to hit up the rides. The ugly beach, which before Wainscott Hollow, was the only seaside I knew. Funnel cakes and riding the Cyclone with Mom. I’d even had hopes of bringing Kat here and reliving those good old days. Never imagined in a million years we’d be here under such grim circumstances. Now, this once-happy fantasy land has become a bad omen. The stadium lights shine down on an empty macabre amusement park, and the smiles of the mascots on signs and rides have turned sinister after sundown.
I try to track Kat’s phone with an app I have, but it’s not picking up its location. The last marker I can get on it brings me to a nearly abandoned parking lot behind the train station. There, I see our old, shared hatchback, and it’s like a cleaver to my heart. I automatically put my hand up to my chest as if my hand can ward off the heavy emotions heaving through my chest. I circle in and inspect the vehicle. I’ve got to approach this with cold calculation and not let my heart influence anything.
I remember us driving Montauk highway, windows down, music blasting, on our way to spend the day fishing, hiking, or walking along to the beach. So many days spent together in the bliss of not knowing the bullshit that lay ahead of us.
“Heath, look, I found a seahorse!” She ran to me from the waves, cradling her find in her palms. “I think it’s dead.”
“I’ve never seen one before.”
“They’re rare. I’ve never found one in all my time spent out here.” She walked closer to me, the sun bringing out the caramel tones in her hair. Freckle-faced and rapt with excitement, she proffered her find to me. Together, we stared down at the small sea creature, which was equal parts bizarre and adorable.
“Don’t the male seahorses have offspring? Like, aren’t they the ones that get pregnant?”
She looked up at me, biting the side of her lower lip, and nodded seriously. “And they mate for life, Heath. Not a lot of marine animals do, but seahorses stay together no matter what,” she told me, her eyes searing into mine.
“Oh.” I felt her words in the base of my spine, longed to tell her that we’d be like the sea horses. I wanted to promise her forever and let her know how she made me feel, but we were supposed to be siblings, and I wasn’t supposed to have those kinds of feelings for my sister.
“Kat!” I scream into the whipping wind that intensifies the closer I get to the ocean. I don’t give a fuck if they hear me coming. I’ll come in guns blazing and slaughter whoever thinks they can touch what’s rightfully mine.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I holler like a madman into the night.
I walk up a ramp past a gated and locked Luna Park, the rides sleeping, the shutters drawn on the kiosks that sell fair food during the day. The memories continue to assault me.
“We’d get funnel cake, ride the roller coaster. Mom always was up for a turn on the Cyclone. Even at that age, I knew she was trying to be the dad I never had.”
“What’s funnel cake?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had funnel cake, Katelyn Shaw?”
“What, is it a city thing?”
“More like an American thing. Only at every fairground, carnival, and amusement park in the nation. Wainscott Hollow might be beautiful, but you’re missing out if they’ve never fed you funnel cake.”
She punched me in the arm playfully and then looked down, sheepish because we came from two different worlds.