The Cottage on the Cliff

I shouldn’t be writing this, it’s just so dangerous. I could always burn the pages when I’m done, but I probably won't. My therapist said it would help me to write it all down. If she only knew. I couldn’t tell her the whole truth, for her own protection. She said she understood, but I doubt it. I was asleep for two days, two! My body ached and my mind was confused, but slowly, all of the memories started to come back. At first it was like a trickle of water, then it turned into a flood, and I was drowning. So maybe this will help, or maybe not. At the very least, it is a good story.

The rain had been falling for three days with no sign of stopping. The wind whipped at the tiny cottage and caused it to groan in protest. I kept trying to watch out of the windows but the rain turned the outside world into a gray blur. I walked around the cabin for what felt like the thousandth time, taking in my surroundings. Nothing had changed since the day I first stepped inside. The entire cottage was an open space, a bed, a couch and a table with two chairs furnished the place. There was the tang of salt in the air from the constant mist from the sea. There were some photos on the wall, I have always been keen on photography and there was one photo in particular that I adored. It was of a man holding up a giant fish and grinning at the camera. In his other hand he held a long tube with a sharp point at one in and what looked like a handle of a gun on the other end. I looked up at an object on display above the photo and then back down at the photo. I realized that it was a speargun, the same one, as I now saw, on display above the photo.

Looking back, the reasons for me being in that lonely cottage seemed quite reasonable, if not slightly selfish. I debated with myself for such a long time, about whether or not it was truly worth all of the lies, the stress and the blood.

We had been at the cottage for almost a week and I had no more illusions as to what the situation was. By we, I mean Sydney Lindor and myself. We met outside a small theatre in Seattle and I was smitten from the start. Oh, how silly I was. Syd was easy to talk to and he made me feel like I was the only woman in the world. He was incredibly handsome and when we were out together, women would always stare. But he only ever had eyes for me. Six months of romance, six months of bliss, six months of lies to put me at ease. Six months before the veil was lifted from my eyes.

As I am reflecting on my entire relationship with Sydney, I realize how truly foolish I had become. I may have never realized that something was amiss if Syd had not slipped up, just the once was all it took. But that comes later. Perhaps he truly did love me, maybe he even wanted a life with me. It was sweet in a way, but a more apt term would be sinister. And so it was, Sydney asked me to move in with him. I wanted a normal life, to love and to be loved, so it didn’t take much thought before I agreed.

I have always been, through no fault of my own, a curious person. There may have been times in my past when my curiosity had turned into downright snooping. This snooping may have led to some unintended and disastrous consequences. I am not proud of this but there it is. And while I have made great strides in curbing my inner Sherlock, I still remain, now more than ever, deeply suspicious of everyone and everything. This, I am not ashamed of. Especially after the events of that last night in the cottage on the cliff.

Sydney worked in insurance, or so I thought. In our time living together, he went on many business trips. Most seemed legitimate enough and I never spared it another thought. But during the month leading up to the events at the cottage, he went on three trips, all within the span of three weeks. This was unusual. Perhaps, I needed a Watson at my side. I kept my misgivings quiet for a time. I was hoping things would return to normal, but I was prepared for things to escalate. The escalation occurred soon after. I was doing laundry when I found a crumpled note deep within the back pocket of a pair of Syd’s slacks. A pair of slacks he had brought on his last business trip. It read; “Linda. 10 pm. 763.” It certainly didn’t take a detective to see what had happened. Sydney, the man who only had eyes for me, had a late night date in the room of another woman.

I decided the best course of action would be to confront him about this other woman. I asked Syd about the note and he immediately went on the defensive. I was expecting this and made to counter his argument. But somehow things did not turn out how I had imagined and by the end of the whole fucking thing, we were both crying and begging for forgiveness. Syd employed his unwavering defense; the whole thing was a misunderstanding and it was only a business meeting. That late at night? But what else was there to do? Breakup? Sure, and one could argue that it would have been the prudent choice. But loneliness often clouds judgement and there is comfort in the arms of another person. Love, is not easy to turn away from.

The next day, Syd came to me and proposed a trip. It appeared to be an attempt at bridging the still sizable gap between us. Or at least I thought so. We were off to a small and secluded island, only accessible by boat, and only during good weather. That last bit was important. The boat (or ship as the captain called it) in question was small but nimble and I was assured many times by the captain, who I call the ferryman, that it would get us safely to the island. The man and his boat acted as the ferry and a delivery service. I still wonder about him; I was never able to find him again. To thank him. After delivering the passengers and provisions, the ferryman launched his boat and headed back to the mainland with a shout of farewell and a promise to be back in five days. However, on the third day, the rain started.

Sydney had been acting strange since they arrived and it was making me nervous. He would have brief moments, when he thought he was unobserved, in which I could see him struggling internally to come to a decision. He was constantly moving around the cottage or out in the garden, always deep in thought and sometimes mumbling under his breath. When he felt my gaze, he would quickly move off and find the closest thing to take his attention. By the fifth day I was sure of two things. The first was that the ferryman and his ferry would not be arriving that day. The second, Sydney was not sleeping with another woman. Sydney knew who I was, he knew I had a bounty on my head, and Sydney knew that there was only one way to collect. Sydney Lindor was going kill me.

It was late and the storm had finally passed. I hadn’t moved from my post at the window. That is where Syd found me. He took a step into the room and I readied myself. I was counting on the fact that some part of Syd still loved me, if not, well, shit. I could see him reflected in the window, he was framed in the doorway, hunched and looking down at the old, warped wood floor. He had a gun in his hand.

“So,” I said, with as much nonchalance as I could muster, “three trips to make this plan?” A rueful smile appeared on his face.

“I had to see the boss,” he replied. “She likes to be kept in the loop. She only recently took over, but she wants to make an example.”

“Linda?” I said incredulously. “Fuck. Is your name even Sydney?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, it is.” he said, “But unfortunately the same cannot be said about you, my dear. Do you prefer Alex? Or should I call you by your real name, Camielle?”

“I never liked Alex, it just didn’t feel like me, you know?” I approached him as I said this and we were now close enough to touch. Syd tensed but didn’t raise the gun. I leaned in close and without intending to hear the answer, whispered in his ear, “Are you going to kill me? Really?”

Syd was surprised and I took the momentary distraction to make a grab for the gun. Syd was too fast and jerked the gun away, I was not deterred. I was prepared and switched tactics. I lifted up my leg and with one swift motion, brought the heel of my boot down upon Sydney’s foot. I heard a satisfying crunch of bones and he dropped the gun. There was no time to enjoy the howl of pain the emanated from Syd, I went for the gun again but this time Sydney caught me and threw me across the kitchen table. I landed hard on the other side of the room with broken glass and the leftovers from dinner raining down upon my head. Off balance, covered in food, and bleeding from the glass, I slowly got to my feet. Sydney was already on me before I realized what was happening. With an insult and a curse, he picked me up and threw me once more, this time against the wall of photos. More glass fell and I was hit in the head with something hard. I was getting up again, too dizzy to stand, I groped for anything to help me stay upright. When I looked up again, Sydney was there, he had the hatchet they used to chop firewood in his hand.

“Sorry about this darlin’,” he said, his voice was rough and he was breathing heavily, “but you really pissed me off!” And he brought the hatchet down upon the hand that was clutching at the wall for support.

The pain was unexplainable, it exploded through my body, screaming wasn’t enough. I needed to be somewhere else, I needed to be dead. No, they want me dead and that shit is not going to happen! I was on the floor, barely conscious, when my uninjured hand brushed on something and my heart leapt. Sydney slowly made his way over and was soon standing over me, a triumphant look plastered on his face.

“You know, I really did love you.”

He pointed the gun at my face but before he could pull the trigger, I pulled mine. A short, soft shhhht sound came from the speargun when I fired it. I wasn’t even sure if it would work.

“That’s what they all say.” I said, closing my eyes and waiting. There was a thud and I slowly opened my eyes, Sydney was on the floor, apparently dead. I checked his pulse and when I was satisfied that he would not chase me, I slowly made my way down the treacherous path leading to the dock. When I got there, the sun was rising and I could see a ship on the horizon. And I slept.

End