The Eighth Gate

25 | This Fragile Being

 Don’t panic, Mary told herself. He could be behind one of these rocks, or maybe he went back into the crowd ringing the bonfire.

 But a quick inspection of her surroundings assured that both of her theories couldn’t have been plausible. This was mainly due to the fact that trailing through the sand before her was a series of indentations that, when Mary casted the glow of her phone light upon them, were soon identified as footprints. They marked a messy, uneven trail that eventually disappeared into the violent water, lapped up by the waves’ greedy frothy tongues.

 Mary’s heart nearly stopped. She couldn’t speak, not with these terrible images flashing in her mind, not when saying what she thought was true—what appeared to be obvious—was impossible because doing so would make it a reality she couldn’t face.

 Noah, however, possessed the ability to voice her thoughts with much less emotional strain. “Did he… did he drown himself? Mason wasn’t that upset, was he?”

Mary shook her head, her lips numb, throat dry. It wasn’t an act of disagreement, but rather one of disbelief, of I refuse to accept the words you’re saying.

Mason had been drunk and depressed when she’d left him by these rocks—a deadly combination when you’re merely a couple of feet away from an ocean characterized by a high tide and choppy waters that would have no problem keeping you under. Being depressed already led to some rather poor judgment, as it hindered one’s ability to think clearly; each thought was tainted by self-hate and low self-esteem. Couple that with being under the strong influence of alcohol, and suddenly suicide doesn’t seem like a bad idea. Mary had been down that road twice already—minus the alcohol, of course. And she’d come to the conclusion that if she had been standing at the edge of that cliff, unable to stand straight because of the amount of alcohol in her system, she would have plunged to her death whether she had really wanted to or not.

Was this the fate Mason had just met? There was only one way to find out, and Mary was dreading it with the kind of cold fear that left her fingers numb, made her hands and lips tremble, and cursed her stomach with a darkness that churned and roiled with nerves and anticipation.

If he had drowned in that water, then the blood was on her hands. She was the one who left him alone when he really should have been under supervision at all times.

Stupid, Mary. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Hey!” Noah’s voice sliced through her self-deprecating thoughts. She hadn’t even realized her legs had started moving on their own accord, taking her into the water. She was nearly there; rippling sheets of water—remnants of a collapsed wave—were nipping at her shoes when she turned around to see him standing between the two rocks with Avery in one hand. The little girl was no longer struggling desperately, but instead appeared confused, her wide eyes and rapidly-turning head working to scan the area over and over for any sign of the brother she was sure would be there, in that very spot.

Mary could still feel Mason’s hands on her waist, warm and steady. His hot breaths against her neck, the small distance between their lips—

“To see if I find him in the water,” Mary called back. Her voice was hysterical, just like the rest of her. She could feel a panic attack coming on. Her body shook and her mouth over-salivated with the urge to vomit.

“Wait! Mary, stop!” Noah cried, blipping to her side. “It’s dangerous—“

Mary plunged into the water, its frigidness stabbing her skin, sending a shockwave of tremors through her bones. Within seconds her toes became completely numb, but she didn’t stop, just kept pushing forwards against the waves that crashed into her with their brutal force, nearly sending her flying backwards, a relentless rhythm. One quivering hand waded through the water while the other held up her phone to use as a source of light, pointed at the ocean’s depths, now muddy with unsettled sand. Salt stung her eyes and filled her mouth. When Mary spoke to Noah, floating by her side with Avery, each shivering word was a labor in itself.