I never thought the waters of Maine would be so bone-chillingly cold. Of course, I didn't vacation here to enjoy the glacial water…nor did I come here to drown. But, for what felt like an eternity, the powerful, Atlantic current thrashed at my body. Each time I desperately gasped for air, the stinging mist of the sea burned my nose and flooded my lungs. For the first time in my life, I silently prepared to say goodbye to the world. But it wasn't the end. The ocean attempted to smother me with its vicious whips of salty torrents. Among those torrents, I felt a strong hand grab my arm and yank me from the tempestuous waves. A sharp pain surged through my back when the hand threw me on to the splintered deck of the boat. Peering through blurred eyes, I saw a shadowy figure above me—holding me. The lightning in the stormy sky illuminated the figure's face for a second, and I caught a glimpse of his icy blue eyes. Then, I blacked out.
When I awoke, a warm blanket and a different pair of arms shrouded my shivering body.
"Oh look, sleeping beauty awakes," the female crooned as she cradled me. Startled by her sudden words, I gasped and rolled off of her lap in an entanglement of blankets. Backing up, I viewed her fully. She was petite, cheeky-looking, teenage girl with a glint of experience in her hazel eyes. Her brown hair was styled in a messy pixie cut, and she ran a hand through it as she smirked at me. "Someone's a little jumpy," she giggled.
Before I could say anything, I noticed my absence of clothing underneath the blankets that hugged me like a cocoon. "Wait…where are my clothes?" I asked her in surprise.
She smiled and pointed a slender finger to the fireplace where the drenched clothes where drying on a line. Realizing what happened, I blushed and looked at the girl in confusion. Crawling over like a cat to wrap her arms around me again, she said, "Don't worry. If the blankets aren't enough, I can keep you warm."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I exclaimed, scooting away in the woolen blankets. "Look, I appreciate all your help, but I don't swing that way."
With a pouty look on her heart-shaped face, she asked, "So…you're not bi either?"
Taking myself away from the awkward situation, I scanned my new environment. The walls and floor were composed of ornately carved, well-polished logs. Above the stone fireplace, the mantle held wooden, Native American figures. Dangling from the window, lit brightly with pinkish daylight, were dozens of wind chimes that sang millions of songs whenever a breeze blew by. "Tell me," I started, looking back at the girl, "Where am I?"
She smiled wickedly. "You're on Tombstone Island…oldest inhabited island off the coast of Maine. "
"And could you also tell me…umm…"
"Rose," she answered me, "My name is Rose."
"Tell me, Rose, why do they call it Tombstone Island?" I asked shakily.
"Well, this place isn't necessarily the sunny Isle of Wight, Annabelle."
Shock arose in the pit of my stomach. "How did you know my name?"
"Don't ask me. Ask-" She was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the front door. In strode a tall, lean man of his early twenties. His straw-like hair hung about shoulder length in a scraggly manner. The torn jeans and t-shirt that he wore were all soaked, and they clung to his toned body. As he walked in, he glanced at me, and stared at me with icy blue eyes—the same eyes I saw before I blacked out. He paused for only a short moment, and then he walked into the next room while removing his shirt. He slammed the door behind him.
"Who's Mr. Mysterious?" I inquired, still looking at the closed door.
"Oh, that's River. You'd better give him a nice gift-basket or something," she chuckled.
"Why?" I asked, amused.
"He's the one who saved your life."
