Whispers in the Tide
- Andre Gaudet
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
Chapter One: Blood in the Sand
Chapter One: Blood in the Sand
Sunrise cast a golden shimmer over Ocean View Beach, gilding the tide in light and fire. The rhythmic slap of the waves met the muffled crackle of police radios as the scene unfolded. A body sprawled on the wet sand, bare feet pointed toward the Atlantic, arms bent oddly beneath him like broken oars. A crimson halo bled into the surf.
Rex Striker crouched low beside the corpse, the sea wind tousling his dark hair. His jaw clenched as he studied the face—young, mid-twenties, clean-shaven. No ID, no wallet, just a silver pendant shaped like a compass around his neck. Rex’s eyes narrowed.
Behind him, Chuck Bartlett sipped coffee from a battered thermos. “Looks like the tide brought us a mystery.”
“It’s not the tide I’m worried about,” Rex said, brushing sand from the victim’s wrist. A tattoo of a lighthouse peeked out, stark against pale skin. “It’s what the tide’s trying to hide.”
Chuck crouched beside him. “What do we know?”
“Male, early twenties. No visible trauma on the front. Drag marks leading down from the dunes, maybe fifty feet north.”
“Someone dumped him.”
Rex nodded. “In the dead of night. And they wanted the water to take him.”
But the tide hadn’t obliged. Instead, it handed the body back.
As officers cordoned off the scene, Chuck pointed toward the dunes. “Over there. Fresh prints.”
They followed the trail up to a patch of disturbed sand nestled behind sea oats. Cigarette butts. Beer cans. A half-buried blanket. Rex picked up a can, sniffed it, then handed it to a tech. “Someone had a party. Or pretended to.”
He scanned the horizon as the sun rose higher. Gulls circled above like vultures on retainer. A half-dozen early joggers and dog walkers stood behind yellow tape, cell phones poised, watching the drama unfold.
A uniformed officer jogged up. “Detectives? ID from the ME. Name’s Daniel Rusk. Local. Lived over in East Beach.”
Chuck arched a brow. “What’s a kid from East Beach doing out here, dead before sunrise?”
Rex’s face darkened. “Let’s find out.”
They visited Rusk’s apartment just after eight. The place was sparse—minimalist furniture, clean counters, a framed picture of Daniel and a woman on the shelf. Is she a girlfriend? A sister?
Chuck found a wallet in the nightstand. “Cards, license, forty bucks cash.”
“No sign of a struggle,” Rex noted. “Nothing ransacked. Whoever dumped him wasn’t after money.”
They scanned his laptop—password-protected, but not impenetrable. Chuck thumbed through a notebook beside it.
“Poetry,” he said, lifting a brow. “Kind of good.”
Rex looked over his shoulder. Lines about waves, silence, and stars. One poem stood out, dated just a week ago:
“She waits with eyes like tidewater glass,
Each secret buried deep, each breath the last.
And when the gulls scream loud and free,
she drags her sins back into me.”
“Who’s she?” Chuck asked.
Rex frowned. “The kind of muse that kills.”
Later that evening, as sunset began to glow over the bay, they stood outside “The Starboard Lounge,” a beachside bar with a patio just above the dunes. It was the last place Daniel had been seen alive.
Inside, a bartender named Gina recognized the photo immediately.
“Yeah. Dan came in on Wednesday. Ordered a single bourbon, sat outside. Met someone. Didn’t get a good look.”
“Male or female?”
“Female. Long hair. Black dress. Might’ve been barefoot.”
Chuck nodded toward the patio. “Can we take a look?”
Out on the deck, the surf murmured below. One overturned chair, a lipstick stain on the edge of a glass. Gina hadn’t cleaned up. She said it felt wrong.
Rex paced slowly, eyes scanning the sand. “What if this wasn’t a meeting? What if it was a trap?”
Chuck looked toward the sea, the orange sun licking the waves. “You think he knew her?”
“I think he thought he did.”
That night, they ran a trace on Daniel’s phone. Last ping came from Ocean View, 3:12 AM. Then it went dead. They cross-checked security cams near the Starboard Lounge. One caught a blurry image—Daniel, walking hand-in-hand with a woman in black, into the dunes. No face. Just a shadowy profile.
Rex studied the footage again and again, freezing on the frame where she turned slightly. “Enhance that,” he said to the tech.
They did. The woman’s hair caught the moonlight, but it was her neck that held their attention. A glint. A necklace—shell-shaped. Familiar.
Rex dug through the evidence box from the scene. Found the compass pendant. Flipped it over.
Etched inside: “To D—May the sea always bring you home. —L.”
They were close. Someone wanted Daniel dead—and wanted the ocean to wash away their mistake. But the beach didn’t keep secrets. Not forever.
The next morning, a call came in.
Another body. Another pendant.
Same beach.
Same tide.
Next Chapter: The Shell Girl
Synopsis: Rex and Chuck follow the whisper of footprints and sea breezes toward the identity of “L”—the woman last seen with Daniel Rusk. A second body, found under eerily similar circumstances, reveals a pattern to the detectives; this pattern links not only the victims but also a long-closed beachside boarding house with a tragic past. Each clue drags them deeper into memory, obsession, and betrayal. Who is the woman in black? And why do her gifts—a silver compass, a shell pendant—always mark death? As the sun rises over Ocean View, a forgotten diary washes ashore, and its contents could change everything.
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