Traffic was light at this time of the morning. Patrick drove through empty streets, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the music on the radio.

  He headed south along the highway, following the curve of the shoreline towards the tip of the peninsula and the lighthouse that stood a solitary vigil above the breaking waves that crashed against the rocky ocean side of the peninsula.

  He turned onto a dusty stretch of road and followed it to the carpark at the base of the lighthouse.

  Gulls floated on the offshore breeze, and the early morning light cast the lighthouse’s long shadow on the ground.

  He left his shoes in the car and walked down to the beach that stretched along the protected side of the peninsula, enjoying the feeling of the sand beneath his feet and the sea breeze against his skin.

  Behind him, footprints trailed along the edge of the sheltered bay while ahead, white sands stretched in an unbroken line to the end of the peninsula. He felt a sense of ownership; here and now, this beach belonged to him alone.

  Beneath the gaze of the lighthouse, he let his feet sink into wet sand and felt the cool water caress his skin. The heat was tolerable this time of the morning, but the cool water was still refreshing.

  Every morning for the last five weeks, Patrick had come here to stand between the two worlds of land and sea, faced with nothing but the open ocean stretching to the horizon. He was filled with a simple contentment when he looked out over the shimmering blue waters. He felt all the worries of the world fall away.

  Focused on nothing more than the simple pleasure of sinking deeper into the wet sand as he wriggled his toes, he cleared his mind of thought, letting the coolness of the water fill him.

  Like the waves at his feet, a feeling of peace washed over him, just breathing in the world around him.

  The first week of insomnia had been the hardest. Lying in bed for hours, wide awake and struggling to get back to sleep. Frustration building with every passing second until he couldn’t take it anymore. Then one morning he had flung off the covers in a fit of frustration just before sunrise. On impulse, he had driven down to the shore simply for a change of scenery.

  That day had been much like this one, with calm skies, crystal waters and a warm breeze blowing in from the north. He had felt like a man just released from prison, happy to be alive and filled with a sense of possibility. For the first time in just over a week, standing at the water’s edge, the insomnia didn’t seem so bad.

  He had walked all the way to the lighthouse that day, his feet carrying him there almost of their own accord. He had stood at the edge of the ocean just as he did now, staring out across the water, lost in a sense of deep calm.

  It was the day he had first met Melanie.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Seems I’m not the only one who thinks this is the best time of day to come here.” Her voice had come out of nowhere, startling him.

  “Oops. Made you jump there, sorry about that. I tried to make some noise as I was walking up, but you were so focused on the water that…” Her sentence trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders with a smile and finished with a simple, “Sorry.”

  Since that day, more often than not, he would turn from his new morning ritual and find her sitting there, waiting patiently for him to return to the world.

  “Why do you wait so quietly?” he asked her after a few weeks of meeting her.

  “Well, you jumped so high the first time I interrupted you that I’m afraid to do it again just in case you wet yourself.”

  Her eyes had sparkled with an inner laughter when she said it—such expressive eyes, he had often thought. Then in a flash the laughter was gone and her eyes held him in a piercing look, as though trying to probe his inner thoughts.

  “What do you think about when you look out there?” she had asked him.

  “I don’t think,” he told her. “I just feel… like I’m at peace.”

  For a moment he had been embarrassed by the depth of his answer, afraid that she would think him foolish. He had waited for a joke at his expense, a small stab at his newfound spirituality. But she had just looked at him with a thoughtful expression in her blue eyes and said nothing.

  On the days that they met, they would walk back to the carpark together, sometimes in silence, other times carrying on animated discussions filled with laughter or thoughtful consideration. Never boring, always natural and relaxed.

  When they reached the carpark, they would always separate reluctantly, and always with her saying something like, “See you next time,” or “See you soon.”

  Never “See you tomorrow.”

  He often thought that if she ever said “see you tomorrow” he would ask her out for dinner. But she never did, and more than that, it was the way she said her goodbyes that filled him with trepidation. She said it in such a way that shouted: don’t make plans with me, don’t count on me to be here, don’t ask for more than this.

  When she said her goodbyes, those eyes seemed to flash a warning.

  For the fourth day in a row, he turned from the ocean and found himself alone.

  The peace and contentment were now tinged with disappointment. Without the sound of her voice and sight of that smile on her lips, the way the wind sometimes flicked her hair out behind her, the rest of the day would feel incomplete.

  The walk back to the carpark seemed to take a long time without her beside him. He felt every second pass with long, drawn-out clarity. When he finally reached the small flight of steps that led up to his car, he felt as if he had been walking for hours.

  An awareness came over him, a sense of being totally alone.

  The total lack of another living soul seemed strange and inexplicably sinister. There was a weight to the silence that surrounded him—the weight of intent. He suddenly found himself feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  He hastily fished out his keys and got into the car. As soon as the engine came to life he put the car in reverse and pulled away from the barricade, his tyres kicking up stones.

  He pulled out onto the road and pushed down on the accelerator. He shot a glance up at the rearview mirror; the sight of the empty carpark filled him with a strange and unexplainable fear. The wind kicked up a swirl of dust behind him.

  He focused on the road ahead, unwilling to look back again until he was sure the carpark was out of sight.

  Even then, he could feel something back there, waiting.