The storm hits violently in the middle of the night. Crashing, loud thunder, as if the tectonic plates of the earth are smashing each other in rage and the world is self-destructing. I'm glad. It expresses the emotion inside me, the fury I feel toward a world that took Yoongi from me. I feel cheated and hollow inside. He was my protector, my guiding light, my spiritual leader.

I looked up the word shaman. Its root are in a Siberian language. It means a healer who sees in the dark. With my parents away and Yoongi gone, the whole world seems dark.

Quivering bolts of lightning break over the ocean like ragged harpoons piercing the blackness. Rain hitting the window. Will snuggles into my blanket, eyes wide. He doesn't like the noise, but he's not as phobic as some animals. I think of Jimin, all alone now, without Yoongi. Is he up now? What is he thinking? How much does that poor, wonderful dog understand? How he goes on? Jungkook told me that he sleeps with him now. It's hard for him, he says, but he thinks she understands.

it hasn't stormed like this in weeks. I know what's ahead. I don't look forward to the attic.

"You can sleep downstairs tonight," Irene had said this morning when we learned the storm was coming. She was going to be in Seoul for the night.

"It's fine," I'd said, even though it wasn't. This isn't my first storm here. What will happen isn't new to me. It won't bother me as much if I act as if it's no big deal. I get into my bed tuckinf the blanket around me like a protective shield, then close my eyes, ignoring everything outside.

This time when the whistling and start, they're louder than I ever remember them. The keening builds to a hideous, unending screeching that gnaws through my bones and could break glass. The ghosts seem determined to be heard over the storm outside. I cover my ears to block out the sound, it's useless. The eerie screams come through on some other frequency, a pathway to the brain that can't be shut out with fingers pressed hard into my ears. I put my head under the blanket and hug Joy, inhaling her furry warmth and doggy smell.

I lie back on the bed, a pillow draped over my head. I feel my body giving away, sinking into sleep, when out of nowhere the air around me darkens to blackness. I squint and make out an silhouette looming over me. As it moves closer, I realize it's a stingray the size of the room. it unfurls its sluggish body only a feet above me like a cape. It's larger than anything I've ever seen in nature before, as terrifying as the long snake Yoongi told me about.

Like a heavy, smothering blanket of living flesh, the giant stingray blocks out all outside light. Slowly and steadily it lowers itself over me. I fixate on the razor sharp long tail dragging behind it, a narrow and out of proportion to its mass. Hard to imagine the deadly weapon it can become, lashing whiplike in self-defense in the face of threat. It floats nearer, the black, shining eyes, staring ahead, cold, emotionless, intent. It moves closer and closer, choking off the air.

"No," I try to yell, only no sounds come out of my mouth. "Not again." My voice is trapped inside my body. I can't speak. I struggle like a mute, with the words stuck inside my throat. The silent screams echo inside me, my vocal cords getting raw from the effort. "Stop, stop, stop."

Frantically, I beg for help, for Jungkook. Where is he? The massive creature is only inches away now, the eyes still staring, giving no hint of its plan or its motivation. I try to reach out to push it away, but the effort is useless because its huge weight and size are crushing down now and I can hardly breathe.

A tremendous crash outside makes me jump up, my T-shirt soaked, my heart hammering. I run the stairs to escape. Even with the storm, all I can think of is getting away from the house and getting outside, away from danger. The creaky stairs seem to scream as I ran down them. Crashes of thunder cover my sounds. The door slams behind me and I run toward the beach. it's black outside, no moonlight or stars to light the way. The wind is blowing hard, the rain is pounding heavily in every direction, its coolness washing away my seat. Without warning, smack, something slams me hard from behind. I fall forward hitting the concrete.

"Help!" I scream, "Help." But there's no one nearby to hear. I look all around, the rain showering my face, but there's no one in sight. What was that? Who did it? I search around frantically.

And then I see.

A thick tree branch. It's lying on the ground next to me. it hit like a flying missile. I rub the back of my head and try to catch my breath; the sound of my beating heart is strangely comforting. I'm alive, safe, outside, out of the ocean. Only a tree branch, nothing that will rear up and attack. I start running again, relief mixed with fear, confusion, and anxiety, my stride getting stronger and surer as I go. I have no idea where I'm headed or why I keep going, but I can't imagine slowing down or stopping. The ocean is as wild and as choppy as I've ever seen it. Waves smash against the shore again and again in a steady, jerky rhythm as if nature is vomiting water out of the ocean in massive contractions.

The fog is so thick that everything before me is blurry, the world seen through a lens coated with Vaseline. A car drives by on the road, turning off and becoming an smear of light as it goes off in the distance. I make out a shining window of a house, an eerie, yellow glow in the blackness.

Then I slow down, exhausted.

A short distance in front of me, I make out an outline of a person. Or at least I think it is. He must be slumped down. I get closer and realize it's not a person. It's black sack of garbage that must have blown from the front of someone's house. Am I hallucinating? I scold myself and keep going. A car whizzes by and slows down. Is it after me? Then it passes. The driver was only being cautious.

I'm at least half a mile from Irene's house now. Where am I going? I can't stay out alone all night in this weather. But I can't go back to the house, I can't, and nothing makes sense anymore. I walk near a tree, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, pushing the hair away from my face. There's so much lightning and thunder. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be outside. I should be low to the ground. I turn and start to run home.

Only something or someone is in my path.

I stop.

Alone? He seems to be. Lost too? I run toward him and then slow down.

What am I seeing? It's the dark of night in the fury of a storm. Why would anyone be on the beach? Why would anyone, except me, escape into a storm to get away from a house of ghosts and ghastly sounds, horrible memories of things that happened that I still don't understand and maybe no one living does or ever will.

I slow to a stop, the rain hitting my face so hard that I have to keep pushing my dripping hair away to see clearly. And then I do.

Jungkook.

There's a glow around him, an incandescent arc. Rain washes down over the planes of his strong, cute face. His white T-shirt clings to the sharp outlines of his chest. There's no surprise in his eyes when he sees me. he looks at me as if he knew I'd come. It was just a matter of time.

His lips curl up into a small smile. "Suzy," he whispers, pulling me close to him. He doesn't ask why I'm there, he knows. Despite the cold rain, his body is warm and comforting. I breathe in the warm, sweet scent of his neck and rest my head against it. He smooths my hair back off my face.

"I had to get away from the house . . . the ghosts . . ."

"I know," he whispers. "I know."

He takes me hand and leads me to the far end of the beach to the parking lot. His car is there and we climb inside. There are towels on the backseat and he opens one and dries my face and hair. He wraps it around my shoulders. It's warm and soft.

"Hold me." He puts his arms around me tightly and we sit there together, listening to the playlist on his radio. I lose track of time. All at once I feel whole. I belong here. Jungkook loosens his grip and looks into my face.

"I have to explain," he says. "I have so much to tell you."

"About what?"

"Let's get out of here," he says. He starts the engine and pulls away. The roads are flooded and slick. It's not safe to be out; it's not safe to drive.

"It's impossible to see," I whisper.

He looks over at me and smiles. His eyes burn bright in the dark.

He navigates easily circling around garbage scattered on the road and tangles of fallen tree limbs. The car hugs the road as if it's programmed to get us where we're going safely. He pulls into the driveway at the side of a bright yellow-and-red house at the end of what seems like a dead-end street. There's a light burning on the porch. It's a small house, like an artist's retreat. I know I've never seen it before.

"Home," he says, reading my confusion.

He turns the doorknob of an unlocked red door and I follow him in. It's dark and warm. A dog barks and feet hurry toward us. Jungkook turns on the light and Jimin comes to us, wagging his tail. I kneel down and kiss him, running my hands over his white, slick coat. He recognizes me, I can tell.

When I get to my feet and look around, the world has been transformed. I'm inside the house and it's close to paradise. The walls are covered with giant canvases - Yoongi's paintings of the jungle. I see muddy pathways surrounded by canopies of huge trees. There are jaguars, snakes, and animals that don't look like animals, but more like spirits with glowing red eyes that peer out of hiding places in the trees, or lurk on the surface of the dark river. there are butterflies and all types of topical flowers - hibiscus and giant water lilies along the bank of the river. I can almost hear jungle sounds.

"Incredible."

"I wanted you to see it." Jungkook says. "This was his world, the one he grew up in. Can you imagine?"

I stare at the canvases, hypnotized. They pulse with life.

"These were never in the gallery," he says. "He would never sell them. That made him feel at home."

"He told me so much about the jungle, but I never knew. I never knew he painted it."

"there's something else," Jungkook says. "Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you." He takes my hand and leads me into another room. We stop. He lets go of my hand and hear him turn on the light.

"Now look."

I'm staring at a giant canvas of . . . myself. I swallow hard. "When . . . when did he do it?"

"It was his last painting. He planned to show it to you before . . ." His voice cracks.

I step toward it and stare, overcome with the oddest feeling. I'm looking at the reflection of myself in a mirror and my soul is reflected back to me. The painting was a close-up, I'm in a white dress and holding a flower. my eyes are filled with a mixture of sadness, longing . . . and determination. (Credit to sh_park12 on Instagram)

"What do you think?" Jungkook says.

"I never posed for him; he never had a picture of me, yet everything, everything he knew about me . . . it's all there."

"He had a picture, Suzy. You were in his heart."

We're standing in a bedroom. "This is my room," he says. He goes to the window and opens it. The rain is stopping and a cool breeze blows the shear white curtains up over his head. he stands at the window, profiled in the light from outside.

"I have so much to tell you," he says. "There's so much you have to know. but it's so late now and you're tired." He looks at his watch. "I'll take you home. We can talk tomorrow."

I walk to the window and bury my face in his chest. "I don't want to go home."

He slides his hand down along the length of my arm and closes his hand over mine.

° ° ° ° °

Irene had an appointment with her editor. She left the morning of the storm and promised to be back the next day in the afternoon.

She'd never know I didn't come home.

° ° ° ° °

Jungkook buys orange juice and cinnamon buns at a bakery. He doesn't have to work until eleven. We eat breakfast on the beach in the early morning sunlight.

"These are like cake," he laughs, cinnamon powder coating his lips. "Suga used to love them."

We eat silently and finally he turns to me. "Just before he died, Suga told me what happened to my eomma. I always thought she got sick and died when I was young, but that wasn't the case. He said she was killed by the sword of a stingray." He looks into my eyes, studying the effects of his words. "She was diving for spider shells in the Caribbean. She must have struck it," he says, "just like what happened to you. But no one knows for sure."

"Why didn't he tell you before?"

"That's what I asked him. all he said was that it wasn't the time."

"Was she alone?"

"She was with Suga, that's why he was so tormented. He taught her all about the ocean. She was swimming from the age of three. She loved the water more than anything. It just happened so fast." He stops, staring off. "he blamed himself all these years. He should have seen it, he thought. He should have prevented it."

"What about your dad?"

"he didn't go with them that day. he never got over it . . ."

"And my dream . . . I don't understand . . ."

"They lived in your house a long time ago," he says. "The ghosts are the sounds of Yoongi's wife, my grandmother, crying out for her daughter."

"But why only when it storms?"

"There was a terrible storm the day after it happened," he says. "As if the earth were venting its fury."

"But now . . . the stingray . . . I thought they didn't come here."

"They don't," he says. But it followed him. Like evil always follows us." He touches my face and leans close to me. "When you were attacked, we both thought the same thing was about to happen. Somehow, despite our powers to heal, we didn't see it coming, we didn't expect it. Evil was stronger than we were. We were terrified you would die."

"But i didnt. You saved me, both of you."

"Yes, but the effort was too much for him. He was so depleted by then, he had given so much blood to you. He had already lost one child; he couldn't bear the thought of losing you too." He hesitates as though he's holding back. "You reminded him so much of her."

I shake my head. It is all too much. I realize I didn't understand anything. I took off, remembering all the things I said to Yoongi.

"Yoongi saw into me. He saw everything." My eyes fill with tears. "And he left me with so much of him," I whisper. "His gift for painting. His . . ." I struggle to find the right word. "His soul."

"Eomma was a painter too," he says. "He kept the gift alive in you."

"I wish I could have his other gifts. The way he knows things and heals - the way you do too."

"How do you know you can't?"

"What?" I shake my head, not understanding.

"it was in his blood," he says. "Now it's in yours."

° ° ° ° °

The heat of the sun bakes down on us. I move closer into him and he puts his arms around me. There's a sureness in me I've never felt before, a forcefulness that fills every cell, magnfying who I am, expanding my consciousness into a wider world outside of the physical reality of being on the beach, near the water. He presses his lips to the back of my neck and we fuse into one again. I turn to him, running my fingertips over his lips. "They're hot, as hot as fire. And now, so are mine.

Author's Note: 

You guys, we have one more chapter to go! This have been an great experience to write this kind of story, magical and not too focused on romance.