Ended up quitting on hotels, and sleeping in my car instead. Didn’t matter. Being somewhere new was more important, and I wasn’t about to leave because I couldn’t find a bed to sleep in. I did say I was going to wing it, and that kind of stuff just comes with the territory. Anyhow, it was worth it for the view I woke up to.

Parked on a cliff overlooking the ocean the night before. It was a small lot for hikers, and I was lucky enough to not get shooed by the cops. Before going to sleep, I stood on the cliff’s edge, watching the ocean, smoking a joint. The ocean’s sort of spooky at night, but also comforting. Made me feel invisible. That was the feeling I was looking for on the trip; a way to dispel the heaviness. 

Next morning, the sun was low in the trees behind me; in front, the Pacific. There was a soft orange light on everything, filtered through the marine layer. Sat on the hood of my car drinking bottled coffee, smoking a cigarette. Imagine how much I would’ve had to pay for a morning like that. Pretty chilly, but I liked it. Super muggy in the valley, in the hundreds; but there on the coast it didn’t even hit seventy.

Down to the right I could see the town where I would spend my vacation. Finished waking up, then it was time to go exploring. Drove down, parked, and walked around town for a while. Really quaint; the architecture was old school mission style, mostly single-story, no more than two; most streets had no sidewalks; also managed to keep out the franchises and major commercial developments. Really charming if you ignore the history, but that’s this country in a nutshell. 

Breakfast was nice. Sitting there on the patio in the cool morning, waiting for my food, watching “village life,” I almost burst into tears. That feeling I’d gotten the night before hadn’t been driven away by the daylight, but transformed. Not invisible, but unnoticed, unwatched. Effectively hidden. During the drive, I was worried being alone there would only make me more depressed. Just a lonely exile. But no one there knew me, and that made me feel free. Finally.

The food snapped me back to reality, and I suddenly felt very much at home. Eggs Benedict never tasted so good. Tipped the waitress fifty bucks, as though she’d saved me from death. Sat there a while, having more coffee. They didn’t try to rush me out like most places in this state, so I took my time.

“So, you travelling?” the waitress asked. Name tag said Stephanie.

 “Vacationing.”

“Just you, then, huh?”

“Yup. Just need some me-time, you know. Some fresh air.”

“You came to the right place for that! You’ll get plenty of peace and quiet. Well, enjoy your visit, okay?”

“Thanks.”

She walked off. Little worried she’d get nosey there for a second. Really didn’t feel like explaining to anyone what happened. Just wanted that stuff out of my head for a while. If anyone asked, I’d just say “court drama,” and they’d hopefully just assume it was a custody battle and leave it at that.

After breakfast, went back to an art gallery I’d seen on my morning walk, when they were still closed. Had just enough time for a smoke before they opened up. Most of the stuff in there was unpretentious, the least pretentious work being love letters to the coast, specifically that town. Seems for a lot of those artists, just being there was enough. Guess I found the right place.

One painting, impressionist, had a guy alone on the beach. Supposed it was one of those figures meant to show scale and, more importantly, the feeling intended for the viewer. Sure looked like peace to me. 

That’s me in the near future.

From there, walked to the beach. Didn’t worry about my car, as there’s no metered parking. Was in the mood for day-drinking, but there were no bars or anything at the beach. Looked at my map, and there was nothing close, either. Didn’t mind putting off drinking for an hour or two. 

Took off my shoes and walked down the beach just close enough for the waves to touch my feet. Near the end, north of the river outlet, there was a pier with two lighthouses; one on the end and one in the middle. Looking to my right, I realized I was basically where the guy in the painting was, meaning the artist had the pier just out of sight. Wondered why. Maybe it was too time consuming to paint. Maybe they were sick of seeing it depicted and tried to make a point. The figure was looking away from it. 

Sat there, chain smoking, watching the waves, and looking at the cliffs on either side of the bay, scoping out possible hikes. Maybe later. Time to get a drink. Got up and started making my way into town, but I ran into that waitress from earlier. Small town. I’d forgotten her name.

 “Stephanie. It’s okay! I’m bad with names, so I don’t even mind.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m Wes.”

We chit-chatted there a bit; talked about my hometown (again trying to avoid referring to the trial), how she’d always wanted to visit there; her life in that town; about my exploration that morning, then the conversation landed on the art gallery.

“Yeah, I used to go there all the time! Some of my friends have works in there, and I still go whenever something of theirs gets in.”

Of course we talked about the piece that’d been on my mind. Turns out I’d missed something: the guy wasn’t alone in the painting.

“Yeah, he’s harder to notice against the darker background. Some people say they both represent the two lighthouses out of frame and they’re guardians or something. Others say that Background Guy is looking at the pier, from the perspective of other paintings and tourist photos; others say that he’s watching Foreground Guy.”

At that last part, I don’t know why, I looked in the direction of where she said the second figure was, then got a paranoid chill. There was some guy standing there, dressed in black with a flat hat. Couldn’t make out his face, but I could tell he was looking at me. When I regarded him, he turned and walked off into town. 

Weird. 

“Spooky!” Stephanie had spotted him, too. “He was probably just looking at the pier, though.”

“Yeah, probably. It is a pretty cool pier, honestly.”

“Yeah, it’s like one of our landmarks.”

“Right; I gathered that.”

She laughed, then made a thoughtful expression and told me she was on lunch break, and had to head back to work (think I was actually making her late), but that she’d be off at four thirty if I’d like a “proper tour of town,” which caught me off guard, since I wasn’t exactly planning on spending time with anyone, let alone on a date. I agreed. 

“Should I come by your hotel?”

“Uh, let’s meet somewhere.”

“Okay, how about right here?”

“Sure!”

“Awesome! See you later!”

I’m no lip reader, but when she went to say “awesome” her mouth started off going for a short I, as in “it’s a date.” I don’t know. Her eyes seemed to say it, anyhow. Guess we’ll see.

“Bye for now.”

At that, she was off, and I needed to occupy the next few hours. Seeing as she knows this place really well, I figured I’d spend that time somewhere more touristy. Got some coffee and a croissant, then visited a bookstore. It was unique and instantly became a favorite of mine.

Half of the bookstore was a garden, which made efficient use of the small space it had. There were some walking paths, benches, and a fountain with a dead end. You could enter from the street or from the garden side. Went through the garden first, strolling along its paths and soaking up its rustic charm. Inside the actual bookstore portion, everything was wood, packed to the brim with shelves and tables, with some couches in the back, and a couple cats roaming around named Ares and Poseidon. Little bit of everything, mostly literature, some rare books, even sections on art and poetry.

Browsed for hours, then settled down with a book of local poetry, petting Ares. The coffee eventually got to me so I went to use the restroom. While I was sitting in there, Ares came in through a dog-door to use the litter box next to me. Guess I get company. As the flap of the dog-door swung closed, I saw a pair of feet facing the restroom. Finished up as quickly as possible, but when I came out no one was waiting.

“Restroom’s free,” I said quietly, just in case they were nearby.

Sat back in my spot, joined once more by Ares. Just as we settled back into our read, he perked up and looked forward, and I followed his gaze to a bookshelf in front of us. The bottom was clear enough that I could see through to the other side—same shoes from the restroom, pointing toward me. I looked up to find a pair of eyes staring at me. Sure, he could have been browsing. But he wasn’t. He was looking directly at me. If I had to bet, it was that guy from the beach. And, again, when I spotted him, he turned and moved down the aisle.

“Okay, Ares, time to go browsing again.”

Stood up casually and went over to a shelf near where the guy was, looked up and down, then turned to go in his direction. Went around to the side he was on, trying to remain discreet by looking at the rows of books, but in my periphery I could see him at the end of the aisle, facing the shelf. I glanced over quickly. Yup, same guy. He was dressed in black with a flat hat. He moved again. I mimicked him by slinking to the next aisle, still looking as though I was searching for something alphabetically.

We repeated this maneuver a few times across the store: romance, western, history—Got quite an eclectic taste, don’t we? He managed to get the slip somewhere around sports. Looked all around—not so sneakily anymore—but couldn’t find him. Went over to the garden, and there he was, so I followed. It was around then I wondered if he was leading me somewhere. He went in the direction of the fountain, which I was sure was a dead end. 

Gotcha.

Nope. Wasn’t a dead end. A big shrub obscured another path. Found myself outside, looking up and down the street. Guy was nowhere in sight. Never got a good look at his face.

“Damn.”

Poseidon came out and rubbed against my legs, as if to say “forget it; come chill.”

As I wondered whether or not to call off the date, I stopped and convinced myself I was just being paranoid. It’s a small town. Guy’s probably just doing the same tourist stuff as me. Wasn’t even sure it was the same guy. Lots of guys wear that stupid hat. 

Besides, after everything I’d been through, I deserved to be able to enjoy some time with another person without dwelling on all of the trauma, talking about something other than pain, legal stuff, and the damn future. For the last several months, every single conversation had been super heavy, with no outlet for the stress, and that just made me want to get away from everyone—but for that brief moment, I enjoyed talking to someone as if my life was still normal. The verdict had been in my favor, but still, the whole situation changed the way everyone viewed me, and I just knew nothing would be normal again.

Met Stephanie back at the beach later. Seeing her walk up to me made me feel normal.  That sense of normalcy would be a welcomed gift I could take back with me; carry it back home like a candle across a windy courtyard.

“Hey, Wes! Thanks for not standing me up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“So, how was your afternoon?”

Told her about the bookstore, left out the part about Background Guy. As we walked, I couldn’t help but look around for him every now and then, trying not to let her notice (then again, I’m a tourist, so I’m looking around anyway). Didn’t see him, so I relaxed. 

We walked down a long street through a neighborhood, looking at the houses. Many of them were businesses. I imagined that trend came from wanting to run errands without tourists getting in the way. Occasionally she’d point out a place where some writer or actor lived. Along the way, we talked about our lives and our favorite things. She was into classical music, which was a pretty big deal there; told me I should come back for their annual festival later that year.

What first seemed like a big park at the end of the neighborhood, turned out to be another neighborhood that was also a nature preserve. Same mission style homes, but probably the most unique community I’d seen. That led to the river, which we hiked along back to town. She talked more about history en route to an Italian restaurant close to the river. 

The restaurant was villa style, all brick. We sat on the outdoor patio, which featured a view—framed by potted cypress trees—of a meadow by the water, with a bunch of sheep grazing. Finally got that drink I’d been wanting. We each had a glass of Chianti. The gnocchi was as legit as it gets on the west coast.

Even though I wasn’t really into classical music, a few movie scores aside, I wanted to keep the vibe going, so I leaned into the conversation to make sure I appeared interested so that she’d keep talking. It worked. I was in a new world. I could’ve sat at that table forever. 

We found ourselves back at the beach just in time for sunset. She surprised me with a blunt, and we smoked it in relative silence as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. I resisted the urge to take a picture, and instead put my arm around her. She scooted in.

There was a solid hour there where I was truly glad that I’d taken that trip; where I just relished the moment. We exchanged some vaguely philosophical musings, and we even made out a little. Then she got a phone call. The way she reacted to the buzz and took the call made me think she’d been expecting it. 

Yeah, I get that.

“Be right back, Wes. Yeah. No, no. Great! Yeah. Uh, yeah hold on—” She continued on about school or something until she was several yards away, then went to a whisper. 

Yeah, they’re definitely talking about me. 

I didn’t worry about it. Our day had been great. I watched the waves as the sky settled from purple to grey and more and more stars appeared. The lighthouses turned on. I didn’t realize how far she’d walked or for how long until I heard her scream. 

“Wes!”

Even after all the weed, my reflexes hadn’t relaxed one bit. I jumped up instinctively and ran in the direction of her cry. My paranoia conjured up thoughts of that one guy immediately. Should’ve canceled the date. Should’ve scrammed down the coast and driven him into a trap. Should’ve beat his ass right there in the bookstore.

“No! Please don’t! St—”

Her shout was stifled. It was dark, but I could see the figure pushing her into the ground. Before I could get there, his arm swung up and down furiously. He was stabbing her. 

No, not again! 

Won’t describe the sounds. Can’t bear to put it into words. Dashing up to him, he stood in a very deliberate way, exhaling in relief,  like he’d accomplished something. I stopped in my tracks. He took a strong stance and looked at me. As the lighthouse spotlight rotated, it washed over us, briefly revealing his face; first good look I got of him. 

You gotta be kidding me.

“Now you know how it feels.”

Paul’s cousin, Rob. I knew he’d never let this go, but this.… 

“But Stephanie had nothing to do with it!”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s your fault, too.”

“It was self-defense. Paul forced me to do it. But this? This is on you.”

“Shut up!  You had every chance to leave. You could’ve walked away before it escalated!”

“He came after me, Rob. There’s no way I could’ve gotten away!” 

“To Hell with you and your lies. It was all your doing. He would’ve lived his life in peace had we never met you. But here we are. At least now you know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“You’re crazy. His wife was going to find out eventually. He was careless enough for me to catch him. But why Stephanie? I just met her today.”

“Her? Oh, you thought it was just her? You’re in for a treat back home, friend.”

“What’d you do? You piece of shit! Tell me!”

“You remember that testimony, that character assassination that helped you get off without any repercussions? Your mother—”

Bolted straight at him, knife be damned. He can slash me up all he wants. Not gonna stop. He tried to evade me, but it wasn’t working. Managed to punch him a couple times. He’d swing the knife wildly and cut up my arms. Chased him around the beach, zig-zagging, going in circles. He couldn’t get away, and I couldn’t get him. 

Gotta get that knife away from him.

At one point, he turned and squared up. Stopped a few feet in front of him, hands up and ready. The spotlight once again rotated to illuminate us. He lunged, slashed, stepped out, lunged again. He kept coming in and out like that, and I dodged the first few, but then he got me a couple of times; stabbed right up through my right bicep and put a gnarly gash across my chest.

He was moving fast and had the upper hand, but he kept doing the same moves over and over, so I was able to avoid his blade, timing his lunges and watching for an opportunity to grab his wrist.

Next lunge. Ready… gotcha!

He tried desperately to pull away, but I got in close, looking for a chance to throw him off his feet. We had ended up at the pier, against the support structure in the breaking water below. Tried to smash his knife-hand against a beam to break his grip, but it didn’t work, though I did get him pinned, so I put my forearm against his neck and pushed with all my strength. He used his free hand to push back, keeping me from choking him.

Slammed him against the woodwork a couple times, which loosened up his footing enough that I could pull him downwards, jamming the knife into the sand. Then, the water was over our heads and he panicked, dropping the knife.

Finally. No way he’s getting the knife back. Now, time to finish this.

We wrestled in the breaking water, both trying to get air and keep the other guy down. Put my entire weight on him, pushing him face down. I held him there, timing my breaths between the waves. We were underneath the pier, and shielded from the turning light.

But more lights filled the night sky; blue and red. The cops found Stephanie quickly with the aid of the lighthouse, but we were hidden. Invisible.

It’s almost over. Her friend heard everything on the phone, so I should be in the clear. And this guy’s got everything against him. This is self-defense. If I let him go, he’d come right back after me. I have to do this. Just a little longer. No one will know. 

When his arms stopped flailing and his body went limp, I felt an enormous sense of unburdening. Hard to describe, but it was a rush. I felt free. It seemed that as his lungs filled with water and put out his light, any notion of normalcy coming back in my life died with him. But with that normalcy also died the heart that needed it–the heart that was burdened by it.

My old world was gone, and without the desire to have it back, I could finally move on.

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Abaddon’s Portrait of a Lonesome Shore is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, or made with the utmost respect.

2022 Storyletter XPress Publishing LLC Digital Substack Edition.

Story by James Castor. All rights reserved.

Illustration design by James Castor.

Edited for digital publication by Winston Malone.

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