MOON

OVER
THE
OCEAN
By A. J. Foster
2 - Moon Over The Ocean
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Section 1 . . . . . . page 5
Section 2 . . . . . page 10
Section 3 . . . . . page 17
Section 4 . . . . . page 20

Moon Over The Ocean - 3

4 - Moon Over The Ocean
 1-1

It was a night to be relished. The oppressive heat

of the late August day had mercifully vacated the
beach, gently nudged inland by the cool and salty late
night breeze rolling in from a far-off storm. A few
hours ago, an enormous moon, both full and yellow,
hovered just above the surface of the water appearing
so large that it offered the illusion of being closer than
it really was. In fact, it truly seemed that if some
vacationer had been bold enough to row beyond the
crashing black surf, venturing all the way out to the
horizon, he could have stood up and reached
heavenward, stretching his arm to its limit, and his
fingertips would have just been able to brush the
bottom of the moon.
But not any more.
The moon had transformed. It was now much
smaller and it had traveled considerably further away.

Moon Over The Ocean - 5

Instead of looming just above the Atlantic Ocean, the
celestial orb had climbed to it’s apex and was now
seated high in the post-midnight sky. Even its color
had changed, the deep yellow bleached a brilliant
white. Yet, even this smaller, less imposing moon — a
beautiful pearl set against the black velvet of eternity
— wielded great power. The lunar body’s gravitational
pull tugged mightily at the surface of the vast ocean,
beckoning its waters to achieve high tide.
Many miles out at sea, storm winds raced across
the face of the water producing ripples which
eventually swelled into waves. As they neared the
shore, the waves sharpened then curled until they
finally toppled forward and charged up the beach, their
tremendous energy rapidly dissipating until there was
nothing left but a surging foam. The foam, in turn,
desperately reached up the beach as if trying to
escape the grip of almighty King Neptune, himself.
Inevitably, the water receded, dragged back to the sea
like a doomed soul clawing at the sand in one last
futile attempt at salvation.
At the northern most point of the southern New
Jersey coastal resort known as Thistlewood by the
Sea, however, the water didn’t tumble in upon a long

6 - Moon Over The Ocean

and sloping beach, instead, the large and still mighty
curls of ocean hammered furiously against a manmade
seawall constructed of rock and mortar. At this
particular narrow edge of the island community, the
sea battered the land with all the savage fury of the
aforementioned Sea King’s angry fist.
Even if the well-posted and numerous “Danger!!!
Stay Off Seawall At All Times! Failure to observe this
notice may lead to serious or even fatal injuries.” signs
were ignored, ordinarily, the constant roaring thunder
of thousands of pounds of ocean water perpetually
crashing upon the jagged wall of rocks was a sound
intimidating enough to keep even the most
adventurous of sightseers a safe distance from the
hazardous location. Yet tonight, a lone figure
traversed atop the treacherous barrier, twirling
carefree, oblivious to the danger.
Cindy Taylor was not adventurous. Nor was she a
sightseer. Cindy was simply drunk. Inebriated beyond
the ability to acknowledge or even recognize fear, the
young woman was not in the least bit intimidated by
the fierce sounds as she skipped across the slick,
irregular surface of the wall that kept Neptune from
claiming Thistlewood as part of his own underwater

Moon Over The Ocean - 7

domain.
The twenty-two year old blonde cradled a king-
size 32 ounce plastic cup that was filled with a mixture
of vodka and orange juice — but mostly vodka —
against her chest as she traipsed along. The liquid
sloshed out of her glass and splashed against her sky
blue and white striped bikini top as shattered waves
filled the night air with a dense, salty mist that
moistened Cindy’s deeply tanned flesh.
Cindy stopped twirling and gazed out over the
vast ebony waters of the night’s ocean, standing
precariously close to the lethal drop. A heavy wave
raced forward and exploded against the rocks creating
a barrage of water that pelted Cindy’s body, drenching
her completely. Unmoved, the slender female simply
blinked several times, opened her eyes wide, then
sucked the ocean water from her lips, scrutinizing its
flavor. “Salty!” she declared after a moment’s
concentration. She giggled brightly in a schoolgirl voice
as water dripped from her eyebrows, nose and narrow
chin. “Needs more vodka!” she decided.
The intoxicated young woman smiled lazily,
raised her large, red plastic cup to her thin, angular
pink lips and tossed back a large gulp. The vodka

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singed her tender gullet as it swirled down to her
stomach. It was a sensation Cindy savored. The action
of tilting her head so far back, however, made her lose
her balance. She staggered a half step back, but
quickly compensated, instinctively throwing her weight
forward.
There were only two steps separating Cindy
Taylor from the edge of the wall. She stumbled
forward once . . . twice, then hesitated, swaying
forward and waving her arms like a tipsy orangoutang.
Then she took a third step—
—and ran out of wall.
Still oblivious to her situation Cindy tittered,
“Whoopsies!” as she pitched forward into the salty
mist.
Below her, activity in the hungry surf seemed to
swell, heightening in macabre anticipation of the
impending and assuredly ghastly tragedy. The waves
gnashed even more ferociously against the jagged
rocks as if excited, eager to pulverize the soft, lithe
flesh into an unrecognizable frothy pulp.

Moon Over The Ocean - 9

 1-2

Three months ago, Cindy — or Cynthia Anastasia

Taylor as it read on her diploma and as her father
preferred to call her — graduated from Harvard
Business School with a general management degree. It
wasn’t easy because she rarely showed up for class
and she avoided exams like they were cocky,
narcissistic blind dates — occasionally she’d stumble
into one by accident, but she’d immediately excuse
herself from the loathsome situation and be done with
it. Fortunately, her daddy’s money and connections
had a way of making such petty offenses negligible
and she still received a diploma.
As a graduation gift, Doctor Jonas Hawthorne
Taylor III had purchased a vacation house in
Thistlewood, New Jersey for his daughter. Since he
didn’t believe in drinking anything that wasn’t top-
shelf or doing anything second-rate, the “beach
house” was, indeed, genuinely located on the beach —
the back door opened directly onto the sand and the
sun deck offered an unobstructed, breathtaking
panoramic view of the ocean. Furthermore, Jonas
insisted his daughter stay at the shore and enjoy

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herself for the entire summer.
However, as was typical of her father’s gifts,
there was a condition: Cindy was required to pay her
father back in full at the end of the summer. If she
couldn’t, he informed her that she was to finally give
up her “silly, childhood dream” of becoming a “world
famous fashion designer” and come to work for him—
—as the son he’d never had.
Doctor Taylor had never actually said that last
part, but Cindy knew that’s exactly what he was
thinking. There would be no IV in the next generation
of Taylors and her father had a tremendously hard
time accepting that irksome detail because it was the
one aspect of his life over which he had no control. For
all his money and power, Doctor Jonas Hawthorne
Taylor III seemed utterly incapable of siring a male.
Cindy had four younger sisters as proof positive that
the Taylor gene reservoir had run out of Y
chromosomes.
Cindy knew something else her father had not
stated: he’d set her up to fail. Even if she had
stumbled upon a job that paid considerably more than
minimum wage, most families saved all year long in
order to afford the type of beach house her father had

Moon Over The Ocean - 11

picked out for her. And usually, those families only
stayed for one or two weeks, not the entire summer!
There was no way she could earn that kind of money
over twelve short weeks of running rides or games or
working at a store or restaurant on the boardwalk—
—so she didn’t even try.
Instead, Cindy had invited her best friend, Sylvia
Anne Porter — named after both Sylvia Plath and Anne
Sexton — to stay with her for one three-month-long
party. If she was going to fail daddy’s little test, she
was going to fail big! And have the time of her life
doing it.
To ensure nothing impinged upon their good
times, neither girl had even bothered to look for a job.
For the entire summer Cindy and Sylvia had lived and
partied almost exclusively off of the credit card that
Dr. Taylor had slipped his daughter on the day she was
leaving. It was his added insurance that his impulsive
offspring would not be able to resist the temptation to
splurge and she would return home even deeper in the
red. Cindy understood that was her father’s real
motive behind slipping her the card—
—and she didn’t care.
At least most of the time.

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 Unlike her father, Cindy did not experience a rush
at the thought of closing a deal to develop beautiful,
unmarred open space into a high rise resort
community. There was no thrill for her in acquiring a
nearly impossible to get Manhattan lot to demolish and
reconstruct, using it as her own private, billion dollar
canvas. She wasn’t an activist, and she wasn’t always
a hundred percent against what her father did —
sometimes in his lust for more, he inadvertently did a
good thing. Cindy was simply a girly girl. If she found a
pink Hollister stretch hoodie that was both in her size
and on sale, that’s when she would get all twittery.
Her father didn’t understand, he couldn’t fathom how
it was possible that his own flesh and blood didn’t
have his same insatiable desire — need — to spend a
lot of money and lead an extravagant, top-shelf
lifestyle.
Cindy’s passion was elsewhere.
She enjoyed fashion. She enjoyed designing
clothes. Not trendy, latest thing, must-have items, but
personal, one-of-a-kind apparel. She aspired to create
fashion for the individual, not mass marketable styles.
Cindy felt most alive when creating outfits,
accessories and looks that afforded people the ability

Moon Over The Ocean - 13

to express who they really were on the inside. Cindy
believed countless people were trapped in roles they
neither cared for nor created for themselves, they
lived a life of necessity, not joy. She also fervently
believed it was her mission — her sacred duty — to
give them back a little piece of themselves, remind
them of who they truly were and let the world catch a
glimpse of that inner person, as well.
“Individuality was beautiful.”
Indeed, it may have started as a “silly, childhood
dream,” but the older she grew, the more Cindy feared
losing that which made her who she was. Especially
now, at this juncture, less than two weeks away from
the end of summer and the time when she would be
forced to abandon everything that mattered to her,
what she had envisioned as a child seemed all the
more vital. Cindy no longer desired the “world famous”
part or her equation — the only part her father could
relate to — but as for the rest of it, that was exactly
what she wanted to do. She was certain of it. The
thought of spending the rest of her life working in her
father’s high-stress, heart-attack-paced real estate
business absolutely terrified her.
Fortunately, due to her impressive ability to live

14 - Moon Over The Ocean

in the moment, Cindy had spent most of her days over
the past few months as a carefree young woman with
toes buried in the sand, earbuds in her ears, thrift
store sunglasses over her eyes and a Chick Lit book in
her hands.
However, there were moments — mostly at night
— when reality would barge in and insist on making its
presence known. In those moments, Cindy understood
that after summer her life would be over, she would
belong body and soul to her father and no longer have
any chance of pursuing those dreams that she’d had
since childhood. In those moments, when reality
seemed overwhelming, Cindy would feel her heart
begin to hammer forcefully while, at the same time,
painfully constricting. She would feel trapped, anxious
and nauseous. Breathing would become a chore and
she would tremble, convulse and break into a icy
sweat. Jagged fingernails of panic would pierce deep
into her chest and writhe about in agonizing swirls.
Then she’d start to sob in loud, uncontrollable chokes
and gasps, convinced she was about to die.
Sometimes it would take hours for the “moment”
to pass.
Cindy tried to lessen the severity of the attacks

Moon Over The Ocean - 15

by self-medicating. At the first twinge of anxiety, she
would swiftly toss back a glass of whatever alcoholic
beverage was on hand — or several glasses, if needed
— in hopes of dousing the flames before they caught
hold and turned into a raging inferno that would
ravage her from the inside out.
But that remedy didn’t always work.
There were nights when the alcohol wasn’t
enough to slow her jackhammering heart and all she
could think to do was get away. On those occasions,
Cindy would hurriedly excuse herself from the beach
house and disappear into the darkness to be alone as
she broke down. Cindy didn’t want anyone, especially
Sylvia, to see her in such a pitiful state. Luckily the
relationship between Cindy and Sylvia was such that
the immediate need for alcohol and/or alone time
never required an explanation.
Unfortunately, as the end of summer drew near,
Cindy’s attacks occurred with greater frequency and it
required more and more alcohol to quell the mounting
jitters.
Tonight it had taken three king-size 32 ounce
plastic cups of orange juice and vodka — each glass
containing less orange juice and more vodka. By the

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third glass, Cindy had used up the entire liter-bottle of
Absolut. However, when she excused herself from the
beach house — stumbling with her third drink still in
hand — it wasn’t to break down, it was to celebrate.
Cindy was feeling no pain, any and every trace of
her anxiety had been obliterated — for the moment.
She didn’t care about what would happen after
summer, she’d have a long and fulfilling lifetime to
work things out between her and her father. It would
be okay . . . and even if it wouldn’t, it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was the exuberance she was feeling
right now. The majesty of the full moon, the
invigorating ocean breeze, and the numbing alcohol all
combined to elevate Cindy’s mood to glorious heights.
By the time she had hopped up onto the top of the
seawall to begin her celebratory twirling, she was
feeling invincible, certain that nothing could or would
go wrong, confident that her life was not about to
end, it was finally just beginning.

1-3

Despite the pungent reek of alcohol, the girl’s

scent was magnificent. It was alluring and intoxicating.

Moon Over The Ocean - 17

Something about the vibrance of her soul flavored the
meaty perfume and the creature could not help but
salivate. It fought the urge to toss it’s head back and
howl in excitement—
—but that would have betrayed its presence.
The one thing — the only thing — the creature desired
more than the invigorating fragrance of the twirling,
young woman was to remain undetected. So it sat
back on its haunches and observed from a distance. A
distance beyond the human’s ability to detect. She
could never know that she was being watched.
Stalked.
Yet, due to the creature’s supernatural abilities,
it could cover the distance in seconds—
—if needed.
Liquid heat surged away from the creature’s
excited heart, advancing in powerful bursts through
it’s arteries. The fever of the hunt struggled for
dominance within the beat’s dual mind. Though it was
natural — effortless — to utterly surrender and
succumb to the bloodlust, it was not impossible to
override the fierce, primal instincts and maintain
control.
It also wasn’t nearly as thrilling!

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 The best “rides” were achieved by letting go
right up to the point of losing control and succumbing
to the bloodlust, then trying to hang on like a surfer
caught on the crest of a tsunami. It was unfathomably
dangerous, but that’s what also made it so savagely
exhilarating.
Tonight, however, was not a time to be reckless,
too much was at stake. The creature sniffed, listened,
and watched. It opened it’s wet maw and licked at the
air with a long, pink tongue. It indulged all of its hyper-
acute senses, relishing the “taste” of the vibrant,
young woman. Its hunger was agonizing. Undeniable.
But it kept its distance.
It knew her name, but names were all but
meaningless in the creature’s sensuous world. Her
scent was what it used to identify and track her. The
creature could isolate a specific scent at nearly two
miles, and since Thistlewood was barely over four
miles long and not even one mile wide, there was
hardly a moment when the creature was not intensely
aware of the location of its obsession.
Its prey.
A breeze rushed inland, carrying the girl’s
powerful, intoxicating scent laced with the ocean mist

Moon Over The Ocean - 19

deep into the beast’s nostrils. It inhaled in a series of
rapid sniffs and it’s excitement grew. Involuntarily, the
creature released a low, menacing growl.
Then something happened.
Without warning, something changed. Snapped.
Primal instinct roared. The creature tensed and sprang,
bloodlust raging. It loped towards Cindy at a fearsome
speed, it’s human side devoured, leaving the beast in
complete and absolute control.

1-4

As she pitched forward into the salty mist, Cindy

Taylor’s world tilted crazily. She was no longer looking
out across the expansive black ocean into an infinite
horizon, she was gazing at numerous jagged rocks
jutting up at all angles like the teeth of a deformed
mouth that was anxiously awaiting to mash and
mangle her body.
Cindy was only dully aware of a sharp wrench
across her midsection. She grunted loudly as the air in
her lungs was forcefully expelled and watched,
transfixed, as her treasured red, plastic cup slipped

20 - Moon Over The Ocean

from her fingers and plummeted down to the gnashing
surf below.
Like it had been lying in wait, a powerful wave
sprang forth and exploded against the seawall the
instant the cup touched down. Caught at the collision
point of unstoppable force and immovable object, the
fragile plastic item was obliterated. Hard droplets of
saltwater rocketed up from the impact, stinging
Cindy’s delicate flesh as she hung, her body folded
over and supported at the waist by some unknown
restraint. Her arms dangled loosely in front of her,
swaying over the lethal drop.
But she was no longer falling.
Cindy cocked her head to one side, pouted and
waved as her long hair snapped about, whipped by a
sudden gust of wind. “Bye, bye cup,” she offered
sweetly, still not fully processing the direness of her
situation.
There was another forceful tug across Cindy’s
midsection and her world miraculously untilted. She
popped up with such dizzying speed that she nearly
vomited. Stumbling backwards, away from the ocean,
away from the edge of the seawall, away from a
gruesome and premature ending, the inebriated young

Moon Over The Ocean - 21

woman was oblivious to the fact that she had literally
just been snatched from the jaws of death.
The strong and not so gentle arms that had
saved Cindy’s life remained wrapped around her waist.
They tightened, constricting like a python, drawing her
body in until it was snug against a large and muscular
frame. A stubbled chin came to rest upon her tender
neck and hot breath rushed past her ear. “Saved your
life, sweetie,” the stranger stated with a dry
cockiness. His voice was low and brittle as fallen, dried
leaves. “What’re ya gonna offer in return?”
Cindy squirmed, but the brawny stranger
effortlessly maintained his secure hold and she
remained her savior’s captive. For the moment, at
least, Cindy was okay with her situation. “Don’t be
such a mystery,” she grinned and slurred sloppily, her
head lolling from side to side, “let me have a look at
you.”
“Face to face? Yes, I’d like that, too,” the man
spoke, excitement tightening his voice. He abruptly
rotated Cindy till she was facing him, the jolt of the
fierce rotation once again nearly caused her to expel
the liquid contents of her stomach. Her world sloshed
about like water in a swinging bucket. As she waited

22 - Moon Over The Ocean

for the sloshing sensation to subside and her
equilibrium to return, a pair of large beefy hands found
her buttocks and squeezed sharply.
Cindy stiffened. A flash of white stabbed into her
dulled mind and a fleeting surge of sobering adrenaline
blasted through her veins. Alarms that hadn’t sounded
on the seawall were now clanging feverishly within
Cindy’s head, but they quickly fell distant and were
ultimately silenced by the thick blanket the vodka had
tossed over her.
“Who are you?” she finally asked, tilting her head
up to rest her chin on the man’s sternum. His body
smelled of stale sweat and saltwater. She tried to gaze
into his eyes, but her own drifting stare refused to
maintain focus for any appreciable length of time.
All she could discern through her blurred, double-
vision was that she was in the arms of an enormous
and disheveled man who seemed more bear than
human — he was nearly twice her size. His face was
deeply creased with either age or too many days in
the sun, and even though it was late August, he was
wearing a tattered, long-sleeved, drab green shirt that
was missing half of its buttons. The shirt reminded
Cindy of a soldier’s uniform. His dirty, straw-like blond

Moon Over The Ocean - 23

hair was streaked with varying shades of both grays
and whites. It was long and whipped madly about in
the ocean wind. In the brief period she found his eyes,
she realized that one of them was a piercing dark
walnut color while the other was a terrifying dull gold
that covered even the black of where his pupil should
have been.
“Manning, John Manning,” he replied. The fit and
firm man straightened, pressing his chest outward and
pulling his shoulders back, as if the mere mention of
his own name was something deserving of a fanfare or,
at the very least, a salute.
When he grinned, his decayed and crooked teeth
reminded Cindy of the jutting rocks of the surf. She
smiled back, but the alarms were sounding again and
this time even the alcohol didn’t seem capable of
silencing them. For the first time since she’d excused
herself from the beach house earlier tonight, Cindy
didn’t feel invincible. In fact, she didn’t even feel safe.
John relaxed his grip slightly and reached up,
burrowing his thick fingers deep into the damp, blond
hair at her forehead. He stroked crudely backwards,
but the action wasn’t comforting to Cindy, it was
painful. His meaty digits kept getting tangled in her

24 - Moon Over The Ocean

matted beach-hair and instead of displaying care or
concern, Manning simply tugged harder to free his
entwined fingers, snapping and tearing out strands as
he stroked.
“Ow,” Cindy yelped. She wedged her hands up
against his large chest and tried to push away, but her
slender arms were no match for his ursine bulk.
Angered, he snatched a fistful of wet mane at
the back of her head and snapped it down, forcing
Cindy to look up at him once more. “Don’t even think
you’re going anywhere, sugar. I just saved your life and
I want . . . no, I deserve an acceptable thank you for
my . . . selfless act.” His tone was cold and
threatening.
Amused by his word choice, Manning’s lips curled
back into a twisted grin that resembled a snarl. He was
by no stretch of the imagination a hero. When John
had stumbled upon the attractive young woman
twirling recklessly atop the slick seawall, at no point
did the words “rescue” or “save” enter his mind, he
just saw something he wanted and moved to take it.
He was a scavenger, an opportunist. John Manning
lived off the remnants of society, he took what others
had discarded and claimed it as his own. As far as he

Moon Over The Ocean - 25

was concerned, Cindy was just one more item that had
been cast aside, she was his to do with as he pleased.
If he would have been in any danger of toppling into
the sea when he had ensnared the comparatively small
woman, he had been fully prepared to shove her
forward to her fate in order to save himself.
But that wasn’t what had happened.
He had snatched her from the wall without
incident. If he hadn’t have been there, she would
already be dead. This was an offering from the
universe, something John was meant to enjoy. Like a
discarded sandwich, she was his to devour.
Maybe after he was done with her, he would still
drag her to the seawall and toss her off. At the
moment, he wasn’t sure, but it was something he was
definitely considering.

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