Against The Tide

“Thanks.” She dropped it into her purse. “And thanks for listening to me.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

“No problem.” He tipped his head toward the slightly opened door. “Want any company in there?”

“No,” she said briskly. “I need to do this alone.”

He nodded. “I figured.”

She thanked him again and then, pushing the door fully open, she suddenly felt a bit reluctant about going inside. Was she truly ready for this? Maybe she didn’t really want to be alone. She turned to see Garret crossing the street, waving to someone on the other side as he headed for Beulah’s Café. She glanced over to the bay, which was now dark with the sun fully down. Several boats were cruising slowly through the calm water with running lights on. Normally, this made a pretty picture, one that she used to enjoy. But tonight it just made her sad.

She took in a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. She needed to go inside the newspaper office, to walk through the building—with no one else there. Partly to say goodbye to her dad, and partly to prepare herself for what she knew must be done in the next few days. The closing of the newspaper. As painful as it would be, she just needed to get it over with.

With only the streetlight to illuminate the small entry area, she could see Barb’s tidy reception desk still sat across from the door; the three orange vinyl chairs in the waiting area stood in a row with the stodgy little coffee table and its usual neat stack of this week’s paper; the faded fake ficus tree still stood in the corner—just like a time warp. Even the smell was the same, a combination of ink, paper and dust.

Megan flicked on the fluorescent overhead lights, causing the scene to pop at her in a way that twisted her heart even more tightly. It was all still here—just like she remembered it—but Dad was gone and it would be her unpleasant job to shut the place down. She didn’t look forward to that meeting. She’d need to get her bearings to prepare the dismal announcement. Without her dad to run it, the paper would need to close. It would be the end of an era.

As she walked past the staff desks, she wished for another way. If only The Perpetual Press wasn’t so old-fashioned. But Dad hadn’t listened to her encouragement to offer an online news source for additional revenue. He had stubbornly insisted on running the paper the way his dad and grandpa had done. He hadn’t even owned a computer. She paused to remember the clickity-clack of his old typewriter—and then she froze at the sound of something else. She was not alone!

The scuffling noise came from somewhere in the back of the building. Was Arthur here? The old print operator sometimes liked to clean the press at night when no one else was around to complain about the smelly emollients he used. But the door to the printing room was closed and she spied no ribbon of light beneath the door.

“Arthur?” she called out as she reached for the doorknob. But before she could open it, she heard fast footsteps behind her.

“Arthur?” With a racing heart, she spun around. In the same instant a dark figure lunged toward her. She let out a scream as he tackled her to the floor. Swinging her fists and kicking her legs, Megan screamed at the top of her lungs as she fought her attacker. But bigger and stronger, he soon had her facedown on the old pine floor. Pressing her head down onto the boards with one hand, he used his knee to pin her tightly, pushing so hard she could barely breathe and felt her ribs were about to snap.

“Who are you?” she gasped with what little breath was left. “What are you do—”

“Shut up!” he said. Then he slapped her across the side of the head—so hard that her head smacked into the floor and she could almost see stars. The only thing she could do was pray.

TWO (#ulink_2b2b7bfd-9833-55b2-9c0b-da9c2a6a9949)

Garret hadn’t wanted to leave Rory’s daughter like that. She’d looked so lost and alone, standing in front of the newspaper office. With her long auburn hair and somber eyes, she reminded him of a sad little girl. Troubled and fragile and broken. Yet, he could tell Megan was trying to appear strong. Garret remembered Rory’s high praise for his only child, portraying her as a smart, strong, independent young woman.

Garret knew from his frequent chats with Rory that Megan had gotten a job with a big Seattle newspaper a couple years after finishing college, and that she’d diligently worked her way up to a good position. Rory had been extremely proud of her, but he’d also missed his girl. And it was no secret that Rory had hoped Megan would eventually return to Cape Perpetua to take over the family newspaper. “That way I can go fishing whenever I like,” he’d joked to everyone at his recent birthday get-together. Now it was too late.

As Garret entered Beulah’s Café, he was still thinking about Megan. Wishing he’d stuck around long enough to walk her through the deserted building. He knew she needed someone to talk to. She had so many questions. Many of the same ones he’d been wrestling with since yesterday. But he also knew that she needed this time alone. She had to process Rory’s death in her own way, on her own terms. Just like Garret had done last night down at the docks where Rory used to keep his boat. It made sense that Megan would tell her father goodbye in the newspaper office. And yet the idea of her alone over there made him uneasy. As he looked around the crowded café, he had to admit there was a lot in this town that was making him uneasy.

Going toward an unoccupied stool at the counter, Garret waved to Jeanie as she emerged from the kitchen with a burger basket in each hand.

“Hey, handsome,” the middle-aged waitress called out to him as she set the baskets in front of two teen girls. “How ya doing?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he took a seat.

“What can I get you?”

“Just a bowl of chowder,” he told her. “When you’re not too busy, that is.”

“You got it, honey.” Jeanie waved toward the door. “Hey, Barry,” she called out warmly to a newcomer. “How’s the crabbing today?”

“Not bad.” Barry took the stool next to Garret. “Hey, man.” He slapped him on the back. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Garret smiled at the burly fisherman.

“So...who was that pretty gal I saw you yapping with across the street?” Barry had a twinkle in his eye. “A real looker, that one.” He playfully elbowed Garret. “You got yourself a woman we don’t know about?”

“That’s Rory’s daughter,” Garret said somberly. “Megan McCallister.”

“Oh.” Barry’s smile faded. “So how’s she doing?”

“Not so good.”

“Hard losing a parent.” Barry picked up a plastic-encased menu, wiping it with his sleeve. “Lost my old man last year. But he was in bad shape with his diabetes. And a lot older than Rory, too.”

“Yeah.” Garret nodded. “Megan wasn’t ready to see her dad go yet.”

“I was surprised to see the newspaper office open tonight.” Barry tipped his head toward the front window.

“It’s not open,” Garret corrected him. “Megan just wanted to go inside and look around some. No one else is there.”

Barry looked slightly perplexed. “Wonder why she left the back open if she’s there by herself.”

“What’re you talking about?” Garret felt uneasy.

“Well, town’s so busy that I parked behind the newspaper. That’s when I noticed the back door ajar. Figured someone was working late. But it seemed kinda odd, this being a Friday, and with Rory just passing away.”

Garret frowned. “You saying the back door was open?”

“Yep.” Barry nodded. “Propped with a trash can.”

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it wasn’t. But as Garret slowly stood, he knew he needed to find out. “Hey, Jeanie, hold off on that chowder for now. I need to go check on something.” And without saying another word, he hurried outside. It was possible he was just overreacting. Or looking for an excuse to talk to Megan again. But it didn’t really matter. As he jogged across the street, he knew, even if he was being melodramatic, there was no way he wasn’t going to find out why that back door was open.

* * *

With her attacker’s knee still painfully pressed into the middle of her back, Megan could barely breathe, let alone speak. Not that she knew what to say, besides plead for her life. With the side of her head flattened against the gritty floor, she could see, just barely, from one eye. And unless she imagined it, she detected a bluish light on the wood plank floor. Like the light from a cell phone.

In the next instant she could hear what sounded like the thug above her sending a text message. Really? Who was he texting and why? “Are you on your phone?” she gasped.

He swore at her, pressing his knee down even harder. She tried to think of reasons a thug would text someone while pinning down his victim. Was it possible he was asking someone for instructions—like what he should do with her?

As impossible as it seemed, she suddenly wondered if he might be a security guard. Perhaps he’d assumed she was an intruder and he was simply doing his job. Although it seemed unlikely, it was preferable to the alternative.

Still messing with his phone, the thug eased his knee slightly from her back, allowing her to take in a bigger breath and speak. “I’m Rory McCallister’s daughter. I didn’t break in. My father owns this—”

“Your father’s dead!” he growled, pressing his knee so hard into her midsection that she imagined her ribs cracking.

With him still distracted with his phone, she strained to look at him from the corner of her eye. He had on black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. The hood was pulled low over his face, but she could see that his skin was pale. Ghostly pale. And pock-marked. He looked to be in his twenties. She didn’t recognize him. She saw him slip his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and suddenly he struggled to reach something from behind him. Was he trying to extract something from a back pocket or maybe from his belt? A firearm perhaps. The pressure from his knee eased up as he worked to get whatever it was he was looking for.

“Why are you doing this?” she said quietly, hoping to reason with him. “You don’t even know me and—”

Swearing at her, he used his free hand to smack the back of her head again. This creep was no security guard.