The Girl in Hideaway Park

Chapter One
Premonition

BASIA

I love Lottie Callaway with all my heart.

She’s a bright young thing, passionate and wild with a belly full of fire. Not to mention, Lottie is stunningly beautiful. She’s a magnificent creature to behold, all long legs and sultry, sun-kissed skin.

She turns heads everywhere she goes. She certainly turned mine.

I reach over and tuck a strand of long, blonde hair behind Lottie’s ear as I muse, I watching the sun illuminate her face and highlight the fine details. We’re seated at an outdoor table on the patio of a waterfront burger joint downtown. It’s lunchtime on Hideaway Isle, and the place is crowded.

“Babe,” I say. “We’ll soon be eating cheeseburgers in paradise.”

Lottie is scrolling through social media on her smartphone as we wait for our food, her legs crossed. She kicks one foot absentmindedly, barely noticing my touch. She chuckles at the Jimmy Buffet mention, though. She knows how obsessed I am with the guy, so she gets the song reference without me having to explain.

“We sure are, Basia, babe,” Lottie mumbles, still focused on her phone. “Cheeseburger in paradise…Heaven on Earth with an onion slice.”

She tilts her head as she sings the words softly. It’s already a perfect day. Lottie’s sweet voice makes it even better. I could stay here on this patio with her forever if she’d let me.

It was Lottie who first told me that Jimmy Buffet had written novels. I had no idea but was excited to find out. Lottie stumbled upon that tidbit-- and other random Buffet trivia I didn’t know about-- while researching my favorite beach bum online.

I smile at her, appreciating the interest she takes in me.

“Those songs remind me of my dad,” I say. “My real dad. I don’t remember much about him-- he left before I was even old enough for Kindergarten-- but for some reason, Jimmy Buffet stands out in my mind.”

“I know how that goes,” Lottie replies. “And I know how important it is to you.”

I sigh softly, glad to be heard.

“I remember Buffet music and the old-school pipe he used to smoke with loose, cherry-scented tobacco. The kind that came in a pouch. Pa, as I called him, always told me that my grandfather smoked the same pipe and the same cherry-scented tobacco.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “I wouldn’t know for sure about that last part. Grandpa Guthrie didn’t come around. I guess the men in my family are more comfortable walking away.”

Lottie purses her lips and gives me a sympathetic look. I change the subject.

“Are Margot and Rags coming?” I ask.

“They bailed at the last minute,” she replies. “Something about Cap having rolled in a foul substance at the dog park.”

I wrinkle my nose in response to that unpleasant thought.

“Okay. Yuck. But no problem. It happens.”
“I guess.”

“Whip-poor-will, the scraggly brown mutt I had as a kid, used to do the same thing,” I explain. “She’d make a beeline for anything nasty that she could smear all over herself. It was gross, and dogs are strange.”

Lottie laughs. “My sister promised they’d catch up with us later, which is just as well. I need some time to decompress after everything that’s happened lately.”

“Same,” I say.

The four of us are scheduled to have dinner soon, anyway, with Lottie and Margot’s newfound brother, Puck Reed, and his pregnant girlfriend, Chely Dern. We’re all still getting to know each other.

It’s been a wild summer, and there’s plenty of summer left to go. Believe me when I tell you we’ve been through some fresh hell.

Lottie went from feeling she was alone to losing a grandfather she had largely taken for granted. Even though she didn’t see him often, she loved Grandpa Vern dearly. His loss hit her hard. Immediately after, she reconnected with her sister and gained a bonus brother that neither of them knew existed.

All of this happened around the same time we were held hostage by a mad man. Lottie was tied to a chair and threatened with bodily harm. It was intense.

I know. It sounds like a soap opera when I tell it that way. I don’t know any other way to tell it. Our summer has been dramatic. And I haven’t even mentioned the accident at Lottie’s boat tour company. My only consolation is that Lottie and I are in this crazy life together.

I’m careful to avoid making premature assumptions, but I suspect we’re committed for the long haul.

I wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship when I met Lottie last year. In fact, I tried to dodge her advances because I hadn’t come out yet. I was still dating boys back then, letting them kiss me even though it turned my stomach when their slimy lips met my own, their hot, foul breath on my face. Yuck. I guess I was still hoping I could somehow hide the fact that I’m gay.

I can say it now.

I’m gay. Gay, gay, gay. Queer as a two dollar bill.

It may sound like a simple enough thing, but for me, the proclamation is huge progress.

I’ve known I was different for as long as I can remember, but before I met Lottie, I wasn’t able to face up to the reality of my sexuality and what it meant for my future.

Where I come from in small-town Midwestern USA, us gays-- as they like to call us-- are often shamed and ridiculed. I guess it was lucky that I pass for straight most of the time. My life would have taken an even more severe change for the worse if people at home knew what I was. Who I was. Who I am.

It’s a shame, really. I can’t help being gay any more than I can help having blue eyes and blonde hair. I don’t know the science, but I feel it. This is me. I was made this way. I came into the world gay, despite my mama and pa’s wishes. I’m pretty sure they’d change me if they could. If they knew about my gayness and if they knew how to rid me of it, they’d do it. In a heartbeat. It’s depressing to think about.

None of that mattered to Lottie. I tried telling her I couldn’t be with her, and that no one knew my orientation. My efforts were in vain. Resisting her was futile. She literally kissed away my tears. She made me feel things I’d only fantasized about during my most private moments.

In contrast to the disgusting experience of kissing boys, being with Lottie showed me what real passion and lust-- and love-- was supposed to feel like. That feisty island girl came in like a wrecking ball and plumb rocked my world. I mean that in a good way. She opened me up. She helped me blossom.

We’re young, and we don’t know what we don’t know, but we’ve chosen to stick together for the foreseeable future. It’s easy when we’re together. There’s a flow between Lottie and me that’s hard to describe with words. We can simply be with each other. No criticisms. No cumbersome expectations. Just being. I like it-- and her-- a lot.

I doubt I’m the only person who wants a little more ease in their day-to-day existence. Life is complicated enough, what with trying to earn a living to survive and get through the rat race unscathed. It’s a slog. My mama used to say that it’s hard, but it’s fair. I don’t know about the fair part. It’s hard, sure enough. Who needs unnecessary relationship drama on top of all that? I know I don’t. No, sir. I had plenty of drama growing up. Enough to last the rest of my days. If I could sign up for an easy button, you bet your ass I’d do it.

“What?” Lottie asks when she finally feels me staring at her.

A gentle breeze moves a potted palm nearby. The plant sways to the rhythm as a small black bird balances on one of its fronds, teetering.

I’ve been admiring Lottie’s beauty for the better part of five minutes now. She’s been too preoccupied with her phone to notice. The way she bites her bottom lip when she concentrates is almost too much.

“Just looking at you,” I admit. “Can’t I?”

She shakes her head playfully in reply. Little do either of us know that my chill vibe is about to be turned upside down.

The hostess shows a couple of young guys to a table near to ours, and all at once, my body shifts gears. On the surface, nothing is out of the ordinary. Yet, my senses tell me another story. I’m flooded with intuitive information, whether I like it or not. The bodily sensations are powerful. Overwhelming.

“Lottie…” I mumble. “It’s…”

I grip the arms of my chair tightly, my knuckles turning white. I feel like I might throw up. My psychic abilities are both a blessing and a curse. Mama did her best to train me to handle them. She’s the same way. I feel a pang of helplessness, and a part of me wishes Mama was here to offer reassurance that all is well. It doesn’t feel like all is well. Nowhere close.

“Basia, breathe,” Lottie instructs, finally setting down her phone and leaning towards me. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

The glitter inside her plastic phone case catches the light and sparkles in the sun. I nod, beads of perspiration forming on my brow. It’s hot outside in the South Florida summer, as usual, but I’m used to that. I work in Hideaway Park in the heat for hours at a time without so much as feeling uncomfortable, as long as there’s shade to stand under. This perspiration is different. It comes from nerves. My breathing is shallow, despite Lottie’s suggestion.

“I can’t…” I begin, my voice shaky.

I shake my head, my long blonde hair moving around my shoulders. I’m tempted to wrap my ample locks around my face and hide underneath them. I begin to trace a plan to cover my eyes completely. Lottie grabs my hand, looking intently at me.

“You can do this,” she says, gesturing toward the guys who caught my attention. “You might be able to help.”

She has me there. I do like to help. It seems wrong not to. More than once, I’ve used my intuition to intervene in situations that would have turned tragic otherwise. I’ve seen enough evidence to believe that I actually have a gift. Few others can do what I do or see what I see. I feel like I have a responsibility to use the gift I’ve been given for good. Several of the premonitions I’ve had have come true recently, and in a very public way. In fact, I’m becoming known around the island for it. I just wish the process of receiving psychic information didn’t make my body short circuit. It’s exhausting to experience. I also wish it didn’t lead people to think I’m a freak.

“I know…” I say. “I know.”

Despite my apprehension, I take a deep breath and let it happen. I can’t ignore whatever it is these guys need to know. Silently, I give permission to be used as a conduit. As soon as I do, I’m swept away on some kind of wild and crazy ride. It happens fast.

My focus is pulled hard to the young men. I blink a few times as I take in the details. One of them is tall and lanky with pale skin and big teeth. The other is Asian, shorter with tighter features and a muscular build. They appear to be about my age. They’re wearing t-shirts, cargo shorts, and flip flops. They’re probably tourists, on the island to enjoy the scenery and have a good time. They sort of smile awkwardly as they pass us, but seem uncomfortable. I wonder if they’re sensing whatever I am. Lottie looks up, nodding her head at them as the smaller of the two waves politely in return.

Something about these guys strikes me as odd. I don’t mean that they’re dangerous or anything like that. But the energy surrounding them is palpable. I can’t immediately put my finger on it, but it’s no accident that their presence has activated my intuition. Or maybe it’s my paranoia. I can’t be sure which, truth be told. Either way, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a scene flashes before my eyes. It happens involuntarily. I don’t want to see it, but I do.

In an instant, what feels like an added layer of vision becomes available to me. I hate it when this happens. Ugh. It’s terrifying. Within seconds, it’s there.

I see the two young guys cowering in the street as ash and debris rain down over them. I see their horrified faces, their cheeks and foreheads stained with soot and blood. They’re stumbling, trying to find their footing as they reach out to steady each other. They aren’t hurt badly, but they will be if they don’t move fast enough. A formidable cloud of dust gathers itself up behind them and barrels their way with a frightening intensity. It threatens to swallow them whole, poisoning their lungs and trapping them within its unrelenting river of death.

“Oh, my God,” I say, unable to keep quiet in the face of the horrors I see.

I shake my head harder, as if I might shake free of what’s happening.

Lottie notices the expression on my face. She doesn’t know what I’m witnessing, but she gets the gist. She knows my intuition is powerful. She’s been around me when I’ve seen things like this before. She’s heard my descriptions of the scenes that force themselves into my consciousness. And she’s witnessed those very scenes come to pass in the real world, in vivid, living color. She can tell this is serious.