Black Tides by Paulene Turner

Author:Paulene Turner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salty Dog Press
Published: 2024-05-27T10:15:14+00:00

Chapter 1

Of all the bad experiences I’ve had in my time travels and high school life so far, going to Riley’’s funeral was the worst.

It was at the cemetery where we’d buried Grandpa a few years before. But today there would be no burial as there was no body. It was just the setting of a headstone to commemorate Riley Sinclair, an extraordinary seventeen-year-old boy who’d vanished, without trace, five months before.

His family needed “closure”, Mum said. They’d been going insane wondering what had happened, hoping every knock at the door was him coming home, every phone call would bring news of him.

But in their darkest moments, they could never have imagined how bad the truth really was. Every night I saw it, as I closed my eyes to sleep—my friend dangling, lifeless, from a gallows on the river Thames, London, 1717, after being hanged as a pirate.

It was a warm day in the Serenity memorial gardens. Sunshine filtered through the weeping willows, making light dance on the well-tended lawn. The air was perfumed with just-cut grass and roses. A pretty place for such a grim gathering.

More than a hundred people stood around the headstone. Riley’s mum and dad were up front. Mr Sinclair had his arm around his wife’s shoulders, their personal problems set aside for the day. Riley would have liked to have seen that.

Our high school class was there, uniforms freshly pressed, with a dozen teachers. A group in white tunics from Riley’s martial arts class stood next to some scientists from a government science laboratory where he’d worked on a few projects.

A knot of older men and women, shabbily dressed, were on the right. They were clients at the soup kitchen where Riley and I worked. Sid, one of our regulars, had cut off the long grey plait he’d spent a lifetime growing in tribute to Riley.

Gran and Gus stood with my parents. Dad had come back from an overseas business trip especially for the ceremony.

I was up front, with my friends so tightly crowded around me I could barely breathe.

Everyone was locked into their own memories of Riley, the amazing boy with the surfer hair and super-scientific mind. He was a student, a classmate, sparring partner, colleague, friend and beloved son. Sobs and sniffles peppered the air. Most cheeks were wet with tears. Some, like our maths teacher, Mr Gleeson, stood stiffly by trying to contain their sadness, only to be overwhelmed by a tsunami of grief. The sight of that chunky all-logic man slurpy with tears almost made me lose it.

Almost.

My eyes were as dry as the Sahara in summer. And I was determined they’d stay that way.

“Are you okay, Maddy?” whispered Lauren, beside me.

“Fine,” I said.

In the silence that followed, I felt my friends exchanging dubious looks.

“If you need to go and get a drink of water at any time,” said Jamie Fletcher, on my other side, “just let me know.”

“I’m okay.”

And I was. Because Riley was not dead. He couldn’t be.

I’ll admit

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