Chasing Shadows

Chapter 1 - Olivia

Olivia

On those nights, disasters unfold. Nights without stars, souls, or sparks. They're the kind that set the stage for ominous tales. Standing on the cliff's edge, I gaze down at the crashing waves battling against pointy rocks. My feet tremble as haunting images replay in my mind, like a hurricane's destructive force. The engine's rev, the car's slide, and the chilling scratch of metal against rocks echo in my thoughts. No car, no person, just angry waves and solid rocks. Yet, I can't bring myself to blink.

I didn't blink back then either. Staring, reliving the nightmare, I shrieked like a haunted creature. He didn't hear me—the boy who struggled yet stood by me. Now, only the waves' slam and rocks' ferocity persist. I shudder, not from the cold but from the terror of the merciless waves. It feels like weeks ago when Devlin drove me to this cliff on Brighton Island, where the tragedy unfolded.

"No stars, just like tonight," I think, reminiscing about that night on the south coast of the United Kingdom. The moon, bright as pure silver, witnesses the rocks painted with crimson blood—a canvas of loss and grief. Everyone says time will heal, but it only worsens. Night after night, Devlin's face invades my dreams, scarlet red exploding.

A sudden chill makes me cross my flannel jacket over my white top and denim shorts. It's not the cold that rattles me; it's the night, the waves, the eerie atmosphere. A few weeks ago, Devlin and I never imagined it would end in tragedy. Easter break was meant to be with family in London, but I couldn't take it anymore. Impulsively, I drove for hours and took a ferry to this desolate place past 2 a.m.

Sometimes, I want to stop hiding, but it's too hard. I can't lie to Mum, Dad, and Grandpa. The Ryder Thorn they raised vanished with Devlin. I'm here, trying to expel the charge building inside me.

The wind frizzles my honey-colored hair as I stand on the edge. Rubbing my palm on my shorts, I stare down, down, down...

Suddenly, the intensity of my rubbing matches the wind's sound and the waves in my ears. Pebbles crunch under my tennis shoes as I step closer to the edge. The first step is the hardest, but then I'm floating on air. My arms open wide, eyes closed, possessed by an unknown power.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, recalling Devlin's words before he vanished.

A light slips past my closed lids, startling me. I spin around, my foot slipping, and I shriek as I tumble back toward the deadly cliff. A strong hand wraps around my wrist, tugging with force, stealing my breath.

"Wait!" I gasp as my fingers dig into his arm.

"Changed your mind?" he smirks, revealing a dangerous intent.

"Yeah," I tremble. "Pull me up, and I'll do whatever you want."

"Sure you want to word it that way?" he questions. "Whatever I want might include a number of things frowned upon by the general public."

"I don't care," I reply, desperate for safety.

He tightens his grip and smirks, "It's your funeral."

As he pulls me up effortlessly, I realize the danger in front of me. His eyes, dark and lifeless, reveal a predator's gaze.

"Stunning," he utters, his voice laced with honey but fogged with black smoke.

"Your time is up. Goodbye," he says as he releases his grip.

"Wait!" I plead, realizing I'm at his mercy.

"What do I get in return for helping you?" he asks, toying with the situation.

"My thanks?" I offer.

"I have no use for that," he dismisses.

"Then why did you grab hold of me in the first place?" I inquire, feeling the tension rise.

"To take a picture. So how about you finish what you started and give me the masterpiece I came here for?" he demands.

"Are you seriously saying that your masterpiece is my death?" I gasp.

"Not your death, no. It'd look too bloody and displeasingly gory when your skull is smashed against the rocks below. It's your fall that I'm interested in. Your pale skin will have a wonderful contrast against the water," he coldly explains.

"You're... sick," I condemn.

"Is that a no?" he challenges.

"Of course, it's a no, you psycho. You think I'd die just so you can take a picture?" I retort.

"A masterpiece, not a picture. And you don't have a choice. If I decide you'll die... you'll die," he threatens.

"Let me go," I demand, feeling the icy grip on my wrist.

"Ask nicely and I might," he taunts.

"What's the definition of nicely to you?" I inquire.

"Add a please or drop on your knees. Either will do. Doing them both at the same time would be highly recommended," he suggests.

"How about neither?" I resist.

"That would be both pointless and foolish. After all, you're at my mercy," he asserts, pushing me to the edge again.

"Please!" I plead desperately.

"Being on your knees is highly recommended indeed. Now, should we begin?" he smirks, revealing the sadism in his dark eyes.