Nightscript: Volume 7 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chthonic Matter
Published: 2021-09-30T22:00:00+00:00

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Swank and swanker.

The condo resort hadn’t been there five years ago, Kylie felt certain as she moved about the apartment alone, or maybe its skeleton had been, developers having just discovered the charms of this wilder stretch of coast, hotels popping up everywhere. She had checked herself and Mitch into a much cheaper place a mile down the boulevard, the downscaled luxury of cable and a pool to which Mitch had rushed out with his Nerf football as soon as they arrived and made instant friends, the way only nine-year olds could, after which Kylie had packed lunch and some towels and crossed the busy boulevard with him to the beach. Silt muddied the memories, caked her throat. She recalled how the sky had darkened for the afternoon, she remembered that, signal flags on yellow. They’d splashed and dunked and laughed. The water was filled with tiny jellyfish, harmless apparently, and Mitch, always the innovator, removed his swim goggles and scooped a jellyfish up in one lens, an exact fit, begging her to let him keep it. She’d told him no, it would die if you took it out of the sea.

The haze on the horizon was ripening. Alone in the condo, Kylie rubbed at the salt fear inside her veins, took a deep breath and stepped onto the balcony. She could look at the ocean. Big deal. Big salty deal. From here the water seemed nearer the boulevard than it had been, at places smashing against the bulwarks where cars passed, spume flying into the air over hoods like so many minnows. The flags were on yellow. The stretch below looked nothing like her memory from the cheap motel a mile south, though she hadn’t seen that beach from on high like this. The height lent her thoughts distance. She tried to make out Jeff among the meager beach crowd. He ought to be just getting down there, not in the water yet, but details had become shimmery under the purplish-brown clouds moving in, sandy surfaces coruscating between light and shade. The condo building’s infinity pool on the sixth floor caught her gaze, just below her, and she leaned with her arms on the rail to stare straight down at the turquoise water, repressing a shudder. Look, you can do this too. The pool was empty. Leaning further: other balconies to the right and down, innumerable it seemed, all deserted. A honeycomb of a building. Private residents on the first five floors, the receptionist had said. The well-off, Kylie supposed, who worked in the city over there behind the inland horizon all day, or worked at home but apparently never on their balconies. Couldn’t stand the sound of the surf any more than she could maybe, the constant mushy pulse always slightly unpredictable, like a bad heart. Lives beating. She floated on top of an ocean of hidden life—squirmings and feedings—deep news going on beneath the casual swimmer, the tourist. Wrecks perhaps. Corpses. That was an elbow, for instance,

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