Chapter 5 - The Red Wool Coat
The floorboards of the houseboat vibrated violently as the engine strained, pushing us closer to the jagged rocks of Lighthouse Point.
I fell to my knees, my white wedding dress soaking up the blood from the floor, and jammed the rusted iron key into the padlock securing the trapdoor beneath the grandfather clock.
It wouldn't turn.
“It’s stuck!” I screamed, panic clawing at my throat.
“Let me try,” Emily sobbed, dropping beside me. Together, we gripped the heavy iron key and twisted with all our strength.
With a loud snap of breaking rust, the padlock gave way.
I ripped the trapdoor open. Beneath the floorboards was a hollow compartment holding a bright yellow, self-inflating emergency raft.
“Grab the handle and pull the cord!” Eleanor instructed.
I grabbed the heavy nylon handle and dragged the heavy bundle up into the cabin.
Behind us, Daniel groaned. He was pushing himself up off the floor, blood pouring from the back of his head where I had struck him. He looked like a demon, his eyes filled with pure, murderous rage.
His hand scrambled across the floor, searching for his dropped gun.
He found it.
He raised the weapon, pointing it directly at Emily’s back.
“NO!” I screamed.
I threw myself across my daughter just as Daniel pulled the trigger.
The gunshot shattered the glass of the grandfather clock above us. Shards rained down on my back. He had missed by inches as the boat suddenly pitched violently on a massive wave.
Before Daniel could fire again, a loud, sickening crunch echoed through the cabin.
Sterling, bleeding heavily from his shoulder, had picked up the fire extinguisher and slammed it into Daniel’s ribs.
Daniel howled in pain, dropping the gun again as he and Sterling collapsed into a brutal, desperate wrestling match on the floor, fighting over the weapon and the scattered bearer bonds.
“Pull the cord!” I yelled to Emily.
She yanked the red cord on the raft. The hiss of compressed air filled the room, and the yellow rubber raft violently inflated, expanding until it took up half the cabin.
“The back window!” I shouted.
We dragged the inflated raft toward the rear sliding glass door. I threw the latch and pushed the door open. The freezing rain and howling wind blasted into the cabin, instantly soaking us to the bone.
“Get in!” I pushed Eleanor into the raft, then shoved Emily in after her.
I looked back. Daniel had his hands around Sterling’s throat. He was choking the life out of the lawyer.
The jagged rocks of Lighthouse Point were fifty yards away.
I threw myself into the raft and kicked off the back deck of the houseboat just as a massive wave crested, sweeping us away from the vessel.
Ten seconds later, the houseboat slammed into the rocks.
The sound was apocalyptic—the screech of tearing metal and splintering wood echoing over the storm. The houseboat was instantly obliterated, sinking into the dark, churning water.
We huddled together in the raft, freezing and terrified, as the waves tossed us violently.
For two hours, we drifted in the darkness. I held Emily tightly against my chest, trying to share whatever body heat I had left. Eleanor sat silently, her eyes closed, praying.
Finally, the raft bumped against something solid.
A wooden dock.
We had drifted to a secluded, rocky cove. Through the rain, I could see the silhouette of a massive, dark boathouse on the shore.
We scrambled out of the raft, our legs numb from the cold, and ran up the wooden dock toward the shelter.
The boathouse was locked, but the storm had broken a side window. I reached through the jagged glass, cut my arm, and unlocked the latch.
We tumbled inside, collapsing onto the dry wooden floor.
It was a storage facility. Old canoes, fishing nets, and dusty tarps covered the room.
I found a heavy canvas tarp and wrapped it around Emily, who was shivering violently.
“Mom,” Emily cried, burying her face in my shoulder. “I thought we were going to die. I’m so sorry I didn't trust you.”
“It’s over, sweetie,” I whispered, kissing her wet hair. “We’re safe now.”
“Are we?” a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed from the shadows.
I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs.
A flashlight beam clicked on, blinding us.
Footsteps approached. The man holding the flashlight stepped into the dim light spilling from the broken window.
He was in his late thirties, wearing a heavy fisherman’s sweater. He held a hunting rifle, aimed directly at us.
“Who are you?” I demanded, moving to shield Emily and Eleanor.
The man didn't answer immediately. He lowered the flashlight slightly, his eyes scanning our ruined, soaked clothes.
Then, he looked at my face.
“You’re Claire,” he said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked, terrified.
The man walked over to a wooden workbench. He picked up an object and tossed it onto the floor at my feet.
I stared at it.
It was a signature red wool coat.
My mother’s coat. The one she had worn every winter for twenty years. The one I had buried her in.
“Because the woman who owns that coat told me you were coming,” the man said slowly.
I couldn't breathe.
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“My mother is dead,” I whispered.
The man shook his head. “The woman you buried six months ago was my mother. Laura Whitmore.”
