Mystic Memories Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Gillian Doyle
about Andrew’s disappearance. When she opened her eyes again, she felt a strange sense of weightlessness, as though her body was floating.
Staring at the bulkhead, she let her gaze drift slightly out of focus. A glimmer of light blossomed into shapes and shadows and images. The outline of a figure appeared, too small to be a grown man. He was dressed in dark, baggy clothing, and a misshapen oversized floppy hat covered his head. The momentary vision vanished. Gone. Winked out in the time it took to blink.
Damn it.
She heard only the creaking of the ship as it gently rocked with the roll of low waves in the sheltered harbor. Disappointed with the brief, inexplicable image of a faceless boy, Cara sighed in resignation and dropped to her feet. As she reached down for her shoes on the floor, the cabin tilted, pitching her off balance. She reached out to brace her fall, grasping the berth rail with one hand while flinging the other toward the bulkhead.
Her fingers disappeared through the solid wood panel.
She yanked her hand back and stared at her fingers, then at the panel. First the vision. Now this? And where had that rogue wave come from? The ship was anchored inside a protected marina.
Another wave tossed her violently toward the bulkhead. Her hand shot out in front of her and again disappeared into the wood. Only her grip on the berth kept the rest of her body from falling into the unknown.
Instinctively, she knew to remain calm and let her mind listen for the still, small voice inside her head—the voice of wisdom and insight. It guided her to close her eyes to her physical surroundings. She mentally pictured her upper arm, then let her gaze travel to her elbow, through the wood to her wrist, hand, fingertips, and beyond.
Her view of the other side was of the captain’s quarters, which she recognized from her previous visits to the Mystic . And yet the decor was clearly different. Gone was the sparse elegance of museum-quality restoration. Instead, a cluttered disarray of papers and clothing was scattered about the floor and over furniture. The dining table set for two was littered with platters of uneaten food. An unmade bunk was strewn with yellowed sheets and gray blankets.
It was another dimension. Another time.
For the first time since boarding the brig, Cara sensed Andrew’s presence. She knew he was over there, somewhere. She was sure of it. But if she were to follow her gut instinct to go after him, she might not find her way back.
Slowly withdrawing her arm back into the second mate’s cabin, Cara reluctantly opened her eyes.
You’ve got to go , her conscience prodded. You’ve got to do this.
Fear rose up inside her. It was one thing to climb over a security fence or face a couple of guard dogs while in pursuit of information on a case. She knew how to deal with those circumstances—and quite successfully, she admitted proudly to herself. But she had never, ever taken a leap of faith that came anywhere close to this one.
Maybe she needed to rethink the solstice theory. Maybe she needed to come back next week on the spring equinox. Yeah, that was it. Waiting a few days would give her time to pack a bag of necessities for whatever she might confront in the past. A gun came to mind, though she had a definite aversion to firearms.
A feeling of urgency pressed heavily on her. If she postponed her decision to go through the mysterious portal, she might find it closed next time. Now might be her only chance.
Battling her own instinct for self-preservation, Cara glared at the scarred wood panel, deceptively solid in its appearance. Suddenly, a muddied image of the rumpled child returned. He was lying on his side, bound and gagged. Two men stood over him, exchanging a leather pouch. One of them hauled the boy to his feet. Cara tried to see the face beneath the brim of the hat, but the boy was quickly shoved toward a door.
As the picture vanished, Cara could not be sure it had been a vision of
Staring at the bulkhead, she let her gaze drift slightly out of focus. A glimmer of light blossomed into shapes and shadows and images. The outline of a figure appeared, too small to be a grown man. He was dressed in dark, baggy clothing, and a misshapen oversized floppy hat covered his head. The momentary vision vanished. Gone. Winked out in the time it took to blink.
Damn it.
She heard only the creaking of the ship as it gently rocked with the roll of low waves in the sheltered harbor. Disappointed with the brief, inexplicable image of a faceless boy, Cara sighed in resignation and dropped to her feet. As she reached down for her shoes on the floor, the cabin tilted, pitching her off balance. She reached out to brace her fall, grasping the berth rail with one hand while flinging the other toward the bulkhead.
Her fingers disappeared through the solid wood panel.
She yanked her hand back and stared at her fingers, then at the panel. First the vision. Now this? And where had that rogue wave come from? The ship was anchored inside a protected marina.
Another wave tossed her violently toward the bulkhead. Her hand shot out in front of her and again disappeared into the wood. Only her grip on the berth kept the rest of her body from falling into the unknown.
Instinctively, she knew to remain calm and let her mind listen for the still, small voice inside her head—the voice of wisdom and insight. It guided her to close her eyes to her physical surroundings. She mentally pictured her upper arm, then let her gaze travel to her elbow, through the wood to her wrist, hand, fingertips, and beyond.
Her view of the other side was of the captain’s quarters, which she recognized from her previous visits to the Mystic . And yet the decor was clearly different. Gone was the sparse elegance of museum-quality restoration. Instead, a cluttered disarray of papers and clothing was scattered about the floor and over furniture. The dining table set for two was littered with platters of uneaten food. An unmade bunk was strewn with yellowed sheets and gray blankets.
It was another dimension. Another time.
For the first time since boarding the brig, Cara sensed Andrew’s presence. She knew he was over there, somewhere. She was sure of it. But if she were to follow her gut instinct to go after him, she might not find her way back.
Slowly withdrawing her arm back into the second mate’s cabin, Cara reluctantly opened her eyes.
You’ve got to go , her conscience prodded. You’ve got to do this.
Fear rose up inside her. It was one thing to climb over a security fence or face a couple of guard dogs while in pursuit of information on a case. She knew how to deal with those circumstances—and quite successfully, she admitted proudly to herself. But she had never, ever taken a leap of faith that came anywhere close to this one.
Maybe she needed to rethink the solstice theory. Maybe she needed to come back next week on the spring equinox. Yeah, that was it. Waiting a few days would give her time to pack a bag of necessities for whatever she might confront in the past. A gun came to mind, though she had a definite aversion to firearms.
A feeling of urgency pressed heavily on her. If she postponed her decision to go through the mysterious portal, she might find it closed next time. Now might be her only chance.
Battling her own instinct for self-preservation, Cara glared at the scarred wood panel, deceptively solid in its appearance. Suddenly, a muddied image of the rumpled child returned. He was lying on his side, bound and gagged. Two men stood over him, exchanging a leather pouch. One of them hauled the boy to his feet. Cara tried to see the face beneath the brim of the hat, but the boy was quickly shoved toward a door.
As the picture vanished, Cara could not be sure it had been a vision of
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