Julian carried her into his living room and laid her on the couch, dropping down onto the coffee table in front of her, where he sat while she tried to get her sobbing under control. He was obviously waiting for her to be able to speak and he was expecting her to cough up some answers. And she couldn't blame him. If she was Julian Donovan, she'd certainly want to know what the hell was going on.

It took her a while, and a bit of concerted effort, but at last, her sobs began to subside and when she finally pushed herself up to a sitting position, accepting the box of tissue Julian had taken from the end table, she could tell the man was ready to get down to business. And he wasted no time.

"Clydie, you have to tell me what's going on," he demanded in a gruff tone that should have annoyed her, but didn't quite. "What on earth terrified you enough to practically kick in my door? What were you running from? And don't say it was nothing, because that'd be a flat out lie and I'm really not interested in lies right now."

Clydie looked at the man, absolutely at a loss as to what to say to him. Frankly, there was nothing to be said. She had practically kicked his door in while screaming bloody murder, so there was no brushing it aside and pretending that everything was fine and normal. On the other hand, she couldn't exactly tell him the truth of the matter, either.

Julian let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Look, whoever you're scared of, Clydie, you can tell me. I promise, you'll be safe here. I won't let anyone hurt you."

That was all well and good, but it wasn't someone who was trying to hurt her. It was...several some-things.

"Clydie, its not exactly normal to show up at a man's door, screaming at the top of your lungs. You can't do that and then pretend it didn't happen," Julian pointed out plainly.

"I-I know. I just...I don't know what to say to you," she confessed hoarsely, feeling her voice tightening with the threat of more tears.

"You can say whatever you want, just as long as its the truth," he stated firmly, his hard eyes boring into hers.

She opened her mouth to say...something...but, then froze. What was she supposed to tell him? That she'd been chased down the beach by a small gang of manic, coal eyed ghosts?

"Alright. Let's go about this rationally," he suggested, getting up and pulling in a long breath. "You're soaking wet and freezing cold. So, let's start by warming you up a bit."

Without anything further, he turned and strode across the room, disappearing out into a darkened hallway and for a brief moment, Clydie thought about bolting right out the front door, which was only a few feet away. But, that would mean going back out, alone, into the night. And even though she knew how it usually worked, that she probably wouldn't be seeing Sam again for a while, she couldn't be sure that things weren't different now, that Sam and her friends wouldn't still be waiting out there for her...and she just couldn't.

Julian reappeared shortly, carrying an armload of things with him, including the fisherman's cardigan that she instantly recognized and a thick blanket. "Take these into the bathroom and change into them. I'll make you something warm to drink," he advised, tossing the blanket onto the couch and offering her the sweater and a neatly folded tee shirt.

Getting to her feet, she reached for the things with trembling hands, suddenly realizing that Julian was half naked, wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans. And seeing that expanse of bare chest and chiseled, ridged torso brought a surge of heat up into her cheeks, prompting her to quickly glance toward the floor...but, then she saw his incredibly shapely bare feet and that seemed to increase her discomfort by a few ticks.

"The bathroom is down the hall, second door on the left," Julian stated. "Take everything off and I'll put it in the dryer."

Those words had her cheeks throbbing a fraction harder and she quickly laid the sweater—which Julian Donovan seemed intent on trying to push onto her—onto the coffee table and moved in the direction of the hallway, her legs feeling awkward and unreliable beneath her. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to strip herself down in a perfect stranger's house, but at that very moment, there didn't seem to be a whole lot he could do that would make things worse for her. And she was freezing. Her clothes were damp, her hair was still wet, and she felt cold from the inside out.

Once she found the small guest bathroom and was safely locked inside, she quickly stripped off all her clothes, including her soaked underthings, and pulled on the grey tee shirt she'd been given, which thankfully covered her decently. That done, she went to the sink to splash some warm water onto her face, receiving a jolt as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. 

 Good lord, she looked horrific.

She was as white as a sheet, except for her nose and underneath her eyes, which were red from crying. Her pony tail had long since come undone and her hair was stringy and mussed from her dip in the harbour. And there was a look in her eyes...a look that she couldn't blink away...a look of darkness and torment. She wanted to look away from that wretched thing staring back at her, but she just had to take a moment, as she usually did, to acknowledge just how much she favored Sam.

She'd often been told that she and her sister could have been twins, they looked so much alike. Though, she disagreed because she'd always considered Sam the prettier one.  Sam, two years older, just had a...riper...look about her somehow.

 She and her sister both had the same jet black hair, thick brows, pale flesh stretched over sharp, pixie-ish features. They'd gotten their dark hair from their parents, who both had the same midnight colored tresses, their pale complexion and delicate features from their mother, and they'd both inherited their eye color from their father, a color that was akin to the foil shamrocks used as decorations for St. Patrick's day.

All in all, the Weston family were a rather exotic looking bunch, or so she'd always thought. Of course, when she looked in the mirror these days, she couldn't help but notice how much she also favored the thing that Sam had been turned into...

Turning away from the mirror, she quickly splashed some water onto her face and then used a hand towel to pat dry, using the same towel to also try and do something with her hair, but it was useless, so she swiftly abandoned the attempt. She wasn't entering a beauty contest, after all, so what did it matter if she looked like something that had washed up with the tide?

Suddenly feeling horribly exposed and self-conscious, she scooped up her own damp clothing and boots, and hurried back into the living room, finding Julian waiting there for her.

"Have a seat and cover up. I'll get this stuff to drying and bring you a cup of coffee. It should be about ready, so how do you take yours?"

She usually liked her coffee to taste more like desert than coffee, but she figured this man probably wouldn't have whipped cream and caramel sauce just laying around. "With a lot of sugar, I guess," she shrugged.

Nodding, Julian took her clothes from her, leaving her with her boots, cell phone, and keys, and then strode from the room. Clydie quickly took a seat on the worn leather sofa, placing her boots on the floor and her phone and keys on the coffee table, and then snatched up the blanket lying there, spreading it over herself and making sure she well covered, choosing to leave the sweater where it lay simply because it was very disconcerting, the way the thing seemed to keep making its way back to her.

Julian returned shortly, two mugs in hand. "I wasn't sure if you like cream, so I added some anyway," he said, handing her a cup and then again taking a seat on the coffee table in front of her.

"Thank you," she said to him, taking a careful sip of the steaming, milky liquid and finding it fairly decent. It wasn't desert, but it was sweet enough to be tolerable.

"Now, let's get down to the bread and butter of it all," Julian stated, pinning her with his gaze and making her go stiff. "And we can start at the beginning, since that's the logical place. So, what were doing this evening that wound you up outside my house, smelling of whiskey, and being physically assaulted by some little pin pick?"

Clydie took a deep breath and held it for a beat. There was no way out of the situation, not after she'd nearly beaten his door in. So, whether she really wanted to give it to him or not, she owed Julian Donovan an explanation of some sort.

"I was invited to a bonfire down on the beach, so...that's where I was for a while," she said, feeling dumb for telling this strange man even that much.

"You went there alone?" he asked, a look of disapproval wafting across his face.

His parental tone should have offended her, but she frankly didn't have the emotions left to feel it. "No. I went with my friend, Matt."

"Matt? Is this the same boy from the bar? The one that I saw at your house, working with your dad?"

She nodded, taking another sip of her coffee and wishing he'd look away from her for just a minute. That hard, unreadable gaze was making her want to squirm, but she refused to allow it.

"So, you went to a bonfire and you were having a bit of fun. Now, tell me where the boy who was aiming to beat you senseless comes in. He was fairly determined to get you to tell him whatever he wanted to know about his sister," said Julian, taking a sip from his own cup.

Well, this was where explaining herself was going to get a bit complicated.

When she didn't answer, Julian's gaze narrowed. "I know you've only been in town for a couple of days, so why would he think you'd know anything at all about his sister?"

"I-I don't know anything...about that," she replied unevenly, wishing she was better at lying. She'd always sucked at it.

Julian studied her closely for a few seconds. "Why would he be so convinced that you know something that he'd be willing to attack you right out in the open? And while we're on that, what is there to know? He was hollering at you to tell him where you'd seen Jessica..."

There wasn't really a way to give him a complete answer without sounding like some sort of flaming lunatic. Which, in all likelihood, she was.

"I don't know anything about his sister other than she's been missing for a year," she stated.

"And the boy thought you...what? Had some information about her? He thought you'd seen her around?" wondered Julian. "Why would he think that? I mean, you only just moved here."

She lifted her shoulders in what felt like a helpless shrug.

Julian took another sip of coffee, giving his head something of a shake. "Alright. Let's set that bit to the side for a minute. Tell me what brought you back to my door, screaming in terror, no less."

Again, there not a single, rational answer she could give him.

"Clydie, you were scared to death," Julian pointed out. "What caused you to be that afraid? Who caused you to be that afraid?"

How could she possibly respond to him? Using the old I see dead people schtick probably wouldn't have the same effect for her...

"Clydie," Julian began, speaking her name on a sigh, "its not like you can hide the fact that you're in some kind of trouble. I mean...look at your arm. I can plainly see that something is being done to you."

Julian pointed to the long gash that ran along her forearm, still red and angry looking, and she flinched outwardly. She'd forgotten about that mark. And glancing down at it now...knowing what she now knew...it fell in on her that perhaps she hadn't cut herself after all. Perhaps...one of them...had managed to do that to her...while they were clawing at her.

"Is someone hurting you, Clydie?" Julian asked, deadly serious. "Is someone in your life doing this to you?"

He was asking if her parents were hurting her. Just like when he'd found her on the beach, he seemed to think that her family were abusing her in some way.

"My parents are the only people in my life. And they didn't do this. They wouldn't hurt me." Not even on those days when it seemed they had plenty of reasons to lose it and take their anger and frustration out on her...

"Then did you do this? Are you hurting yourself?" came the next question.

"No. I-I'm not. I-I just..." She stopped herself just before she could tell him that she'd fallen or accidentally cut herself.

It would seem like a flat out excuse that Julian Donovan most certainly wouldn't buy. And ordinarily, she wouldn't give two cents what a complete stranger thought, but for all she knew, this complete stranger would have the police banging on her parents' door before sun up.

"Why did you come back here, Clydie? You have to at least tell me why you were scared enough to come running back here, begging to be let in," Julian urged.

"I-I...its... I'm sorry, I can't—"

The loud, piercing ringing of her cell phone exploded through the quiet, pushing a startled shriek out of her. Jolted...not to mention embarrassed...she quickly sat her mug onto the coffee table and snatched up her cell, her stomach dropping when she saw that it was her dad calling.

"What's wrong?" Julian asked when she didn't immediately answer the call.

Oh god. Her dad was calling to find out why she was still out. He was going to tell her to get herself home...only she couldn't. She could not make the long walk to the house...that dirty, dingy, dreadful house...in the dark, past those looming evergreen trees where her tormentors seemed to want to congregate... Not yet.

"Clydie? Who is it?" Julian pressed, worried.

"Its my dad," she replied as the phone continued its persistent ringing.

Something moved across Julian's face in a quick flash, making her stiffen. "May I?" he asked, holding his hand out toward her.

She froze for the span of a few moments. She knew good and well that she should speak to her own father, but she also knew, with a fair amount of certainty, that the second she heard her dad's voice, she was going to dissolve into tears and she'd never be able to explain to him why she didn't want to come home yet. Not yet.

"Clydie? Please?" Julian insisted and she capitulated, feeling like a weak, spineless fool, but considering the circumstances, she forgave herself.

She handed the phone to Julian, who got to his feet and headed toward the living room door. "Hello, Mr. Weston? This is Julian Donovan. I'm answering Clydie's phone because she's here with me..."

*  *  *  *  *  *

Much to her surprise, and slight concern, Julian remained out of the living room for quite a while, and since she didn't hear any raised voices, she had to wonder just what the man and her father were saying to one another. Honestly, with a strange man answering her phone, she figured that Frank Weston would already be knocking at the door, demanding that she follow him home.

However, as time ticked by and she sat in the silence, listening to the beating of her own heart, she began to worry what sort of conversation was being had...and by whom. She didn't think her father would air her dirty laundry to a strange man, especially when he hadn't been thrilled at even the notion of Julian Donovan. Her mother, though... Ella had been rather keen on Julian showing a bit of interest in her daughter, so if she'd gotten on the phone, there was no telling what was being said.

When it felt as if Julian had been gone for a little too long, she decided to get up and go in search of him. The conversation had lingered so that surely any niceties or small talk were well out of the way, which meant any ongoing discussion surely had to be centered on her.

Tossing the blanket aside, she stood and walked across the living room, the bare wood floor cold against her feet. Out in the hallway, she headed toward the lighted up room at the end, hearing the murmur of Julian's deep voice as she approached. There was nothing dire in his tone, but as she stepped into the kitchen, finding him leaning against the sink, his gaze caught hers and she felt something zip along her spine that stopped her in her tracks.

Julian's expression and eyes were no more readable than before, but something about him told her that the voice in his ear might be telling him a few things she'd rather wish they hadn't.

"Well, I'll have her home tomorrow morning, Mrs. Weston," Julian said, keeping his gaze pinned on Clydie. "She'll be safe and sound right here for the night."

A little start jolted along her limbs and she gasped, unsure how to react to Julian's words.

"Alright. She's right here. Do you want to speak with her?" asked Julian and Clydie felt herself take a full step backward.

Frankly, she wasn't sure she wanted to speak with her mother just then. Ella had refused to let her stay back in Summerville with her aunt, but here, in Cedar Cove, was she really so eager to push her off onto the first person who seemed willing to take her? Even if that person was a total stranger?

"Good night, then, Mrs. Weston. I'll see you in the morning." With that, Julian disconnected, holding the phone out toward her. "Welp, looks like you'll be sleeping here tonight."

Clydie stared at the man for a space. So, her own mother hadn't even wanted to talk to her? Just to make sure she was actually still alive and breathing?

"I didn't know if you'd really want to, but you seem a little better now and I didn't really feel right about letting you leave," Julian explained, still holding her phone out.

She seemed a little better now... "What did my mom say to you?" she croaked out.

Julian held her gaze, unblinking. "She told me a little about your PTSD and you're...issues."

Great. Ella had told some random stranger that her daughter was insane. Was that how the Weston family was doing things now? Were they just putting it all out there, for everyone to see? 

 Come to think of it, though, she had told Matt Tanner all her deepest, darkest secrets. So...apparently, they were.

"Is that what was happening tonight? Were you having an...an episode?" Julian hedged, his brows lowering.

Heat flushed Clydie's cheeks and she offered up a shrug, figuring he could take the gesture anyway he chose to take it.

"Do you feel comfortable and safe enough to rest here for the night?" he wondered.

And there it was. That tone. That soft, sympathetic tone that made it more than clear that Mr. Julian Donovan now saw her as some broken and wounded and...pitiable...thing.

"Clydie? Do you think you can be comfortable here for the night?" he asked again.

She nodded, suddenly feeling the heaviness of her burden like a ton of bricks strapped to her back. "I guess. But, why do you want me to stay here? I mean, I'm not your problem."

Pushing away from the sink, Julian crossed the room, handing the cell to her. "Is that how you see yourself? As someone's problem?"

She felt her jaw clench then. Was this man really trying to psycho analyze her? Because she didn't need it. She'd had enough therapy sessions to last her a lifetime and since she wasn't paying Julian Donovan, she didn't need to hear his professional opinion.

She did, however, need some semblance of the truth from him. Bullshit was a waste of time. For both of them. "Why do you want me to stay here, Julian? You don't know me from anybody. So, why do you want to get involved?"

Julian lifted a broad, bare shoulder. "Because...I just do."

So, that wasn't vague or anything. "Julian, what do you think is going to happen here? Because, if you're thinking that you're whole...knight in shining armor thing will help you get me into bed, you're wrong. Its not gonna happen."

And she couldn't put it any plainer than that.  Though, thinking on it, would he have told her mother and father that she was with him, if he'd planned on getting up to no good?

She watched as Julian's eyes widened and his brows lifted high. "Clydie, no. That...that's not what's happening here."

"Then what is happening here?" she put that question to him.

Again, Julian lifted a shoulder. "Clydie, I don't want anything from you. Its just...haven't you ever met someone that you're just...drawn to? You can't say why, but there's just somethin' pulling at your insides?"

Why was he doing that thing with his accent? Was he making it deeper in hopes of using to his advantage? Because she wasn't that easy a mark. "You know I'm probably outside your age range. Shouldn't your insides be pulled by somebody who's a little bit older?"

"Miss Weston, do you really think you're too young for a grown man to find you attractive? And maybe even a bit...gripping?"

Gripping? He found the crazy girl who was haunted by her dead sister gripping?

"Look, Clydie," he breathed, running a hand through his mop of hair, "you can't expect me to just turn a blind eye after you came to me, screaming for help. I mean, all I can do is...try to help, right?"

A sudden wave of defeat rolled through her. He had a point. She had pounded on his door, had she not? So, could she really expect him not to feel as if he was now involved in her life? She couldn't have it both ways.

That was how Sam had always chosen to behave.  Pulling and pushing the people around her so they hardly knew which way to turn after a while.  And she did not want to start down that path.

"Come on. You look totally exhausted," said Julian, holding his hand out to her.

Feeling that she was in too far and too deep, she took hold of Julian's hand and, as he laced his large fingers through hers, he began leading her out of the kitchen, flipping the light off as they went. He took her back to the living room sofa and she dropped down there, quickly taking hold of the blanket and tugging it over her bare legs.

"I'll grab you a pillow," Julian intoned, turning and disappearing from the room, only to reappear a couple of minutes later. "Here you go. Lie back and get comfortable."

As he spoke, he placed the pillow on the sofa and she obeyed, stretching out and settling herself on the cool leather cushions. Leaning over her, Julian pulled the blanket up around her, his hard eyes focused on her with such intent, that she abruptly found it hard to breathe. And just as abruptly, she found it hard to believe that she was actually going to spend the night in a strange man's house because she was terrified of the ghost of her dead sister. She wouldn't even bother with dwelling on the aspect of her mother rather insisting...

"Sleep well, Clydie. I'll be right here, so you don't have anything to be afraid of," Julian assured, his voice low and gruff enough to lift the hairs on the her arms. "You'll be perfectly safe for the night. I promise."

She'd be perfectly safe... Almost, it still seemed as if he thought someone was hurting her, despite having spoken with her parents.  

"I'll be right here, if you need me." With a soft smile, Julia straightened up and moved around the coffee table, taking a seat in the leather recliner there.

Once he was away from her, she pulled the blanket up to her chin, keeping her phone clutched in her hand just in case she needed it on short notice, and almost before she knew it...warm, thick waves of drowsiness were sweeping over her. She shouldn't have been able to feel so immediately sleepy, all things given, but the living room did feel rather comfortable.

It was a fairly sparse room, now that she was noticing, but despite that, it was better than the dingy, nicotine scented rooms back at her own house. She didn't think she'd ever feel truly comfortable there. Or safe.

But, with Julian Donovan just a few feet away...she did feel safe. Safer than she had in a very, very long time.