CHAPTER 3

 

“What the hell?” Colin swung around.

Stella barely heard him over her thumping heart.

“Stel?”

Wraithlike spirals of condensation twisted through the cave, like the diaphanous gown of a banshee.

“Stella, dammit, what is it?”

“I–I–” Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists. “I saw a face.”

“A face?”

He followed her gaze to the crack on the other side of the cave. Awareness snapped his body as large hands clasped her shoulders and swung her towards him.

“Mom?”

The desperation in that plea tugged at her heart. But no, what she saw looked nothing like the vivacious Anne Wexler. In that split second that she even now suspected was a delusion, she had witnessed a gaunt face, ashen with deep black shadows carved around shimmering eyes.

“No,” she choked.

The mist continued its nebulous trek through the cave. It must have been an effect of this natural phenomena that had deceived her.

Colin stared at her, his eyes barely visible in the waning light. If she could hardly see his face how could she have witnessed that visage so clearly?

Simple. She imagined it.

“I’m just edgy,” she explained. “I’m sorry.”

The fingers on her shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still held onto her.

“This place–” his chin lifted as he searched the ceiling, “–will destroy our minds if we let it.”

Stella almost sagged with relief. He understood. He understood that the fear of dying in this deep tomb far outweighed the actual fear of death.

“We should get back to Dad and Jill.”

Yes. Strength in numbers.

“But,” her cursed curiosity decided to intercede, “there is still light up ahead.”

Even now she could see the glow beyond Colin’s shoulder. It is what enabled her to see the clouds of condensation undulating in the humid tomb. Gleaming eyes had reflected off of it.

“Maybe I saw some sort of deep sea creature,” she whispered, still searching for an explanation.

“Maybe,” he agreed without conviction.

Nonetheless, Colin had turned back towards the light, his wide shoulders nearly obscuring it.

“But, you’re right, ” he agreed. “The only way we’re going to get out of this place is to keep searching. There has to be–”

He didn’t finish the sentence. There was no need. What else could there be? An elevator? They were over a 1000 feet under the ocean surface, at least. It was physically impossible to swim. Their fate was sealed. Curling up into a four-person ball didn’t seem like a viable alternative yet. As long as there was still air in her lungs and power in her legs, she was going to explore this cave of damnation.

“Let’s just make it around this bend,” she suggested.

The truth was that she was actually looking forward to college. This year she started in on her path towards a BA in Journalism with classes like Media Law and Ethics, and the Culture of Journalism. Being a journalist was a childhood dream of hers. She was the editor of her first newspaper at the ripe old age of 9. It was a hand-typed periodical, chronicling her friends’ activities, which she printed out three copies of, stapled them together, and handed them to the three subscribers, her mother, her father, and the next-door neighbor.

In high school she started her blog, Stella Says. Despite the effusive title, no one really cared what she had to say. She didn’t use it as a soap box. There was no political rhetoric. It was simply a showcase of her random thoughts for the day. People always accused Stella of having her head in the clouds. If that was the case it was only because she wanted a bird's-eye view. She needed to see the whole picture. She hated gaps. She hated missing information.

If there was some way to return from this catastrophe at sea, just think of the documentary she could compose.

“Do you notice that?” Colin interrupted her thoughts.

“What?”

Unconsciously, she turned back towards that cleft in the cave wall, but there was no one staring back at her.

“The echoes of our voices…they’re growing fuller. Acoustics can be erratic in caves, but I get the impression that the chamber ahead is much larger.”

Stella sensed a breeze across her cheek. It felt foreboding–a harbinger of danger. But successful journalists had to possess nerves of steel. They had to be able to walk into unsavory situations and emerge with answers.

She squared her shoulders and declared, “Let’s go find out.”

“Colin!” Don’s voice sounded muffled, and yet it amplified off the walls. “Col, come back here.”

Colin’s body braced. “Are you okay?” he yelled back.

There was no answer.

Colin cast one last skeptical glance into the abyss and murmured, “We’ll finish this after we check on them.”

“Colin, you can’t leave us like that,” his father reprimanded. “Not now.”

“We agreed that Stella and I should try to see if there was another access pool.”

Despite the severity of their situation, Stella could tell that Colin was slightly annoyed by the censure. After all, he was right. They had agreed it was best to investigate. What if Mrs. Wexler was here already…maybe only yards away?

“Yes.” Don sounded tired. “But, not for so long. The flashlight is failing. If it goes, we better stick together.”

Stella crouched down next to Jill. Her friend was sullen, not even acknowledging Stella’s touch when she wrapped her arm around her for support. It was such a clash with Jill’s normally vivid personality. Stella was the inquisitive one. Always studying, constantly searching the internet to answer whatever bizarre question popped into her mind. Whatever happened to Einstein’s brain after the autopsy? Why don’t satellites show better images of the Apollo missions to the moon? What if we build an underground tunnel from San Francisco to Los Angeles and an earthquake strikes?

In contrast to Stella’s relentless inquiries, Jill Wexler was embarking on a language arts degree in hopes of becoming a teacher. She loved kids, and most of their weekend plans in high school were thwarted by Jill’s babysitting duties. The whole neighborhood flocked to her because of her bright personality and tender actions with children.

Jill used to tease Stella good-naturedly about overanalyzing. Jill would sit down on a lawn chair and hunch over with her elbow on her knee and her fist to her chin, mimicking the bronze sculpture of The Thinker.

"This is Stel," she would say. "Always thinking.”

But now the bubbly eighteen-year-old with the deep golden hair and sky blue eyes was withdrawn. Jill had even started humming–a distraction technique. Stella tried to identify the tune. It wasn’t even from Jill’s repertoire of favorites.

Stella clutched her friend tighter and murmured a boost of confidence, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Jill stared blindly at the grainy floor.

Glancing up, Stella found Jill’s father in the same state. Occasionally his head would roll back as he searched the black pool, but forlorn, he would drop back into his catatonic state.

Standing beside them, Colin looked morose with his palm flat against the wall. It supported more than his weight. It was a crutch to allow him to think. She could see the wheels turning–analyzing–calculating. Remaining steadfast by his family’s side, he towered over them with a dark intensity that dared anyone to attempt them harm.

With nothing else worth focusing on, she continued to study his features. His deep chestnut hair was beginning to dry. It was cut short with a few natural spikes poking up above his forehead. His jawline was blunt, locked in contemplation. The red Rutgers t-shirt was still damp, clinging to a muscular broad chest. His gray cargo shorts revealed long, tanned legs. She waited for him to break from his spell and suggest a plan, but he was caught up in his family’s melancholy.

So that’s it. That’s what they wanted. They wanted the four-person huddle of death. She couldn’t do it. Maybe she had been imagining things in the adjacent chamber, but it was better than staring at a black pool–a one-way ticket to the insane asylum. Stella understood that they were waiting for that tepid portal to emit their mother–their wife. But no one was going to come through that gateway for her. She had to be independent. She had to find her own solace.

Stella slipped from Jill’s side without a reaction from her despondent friend. She stroked Jill’s moist hair and whispered, “I’ll be right back. Stay strong.”

A slight flinch of Jill’s shoulder served as the only acknowledgement. Stella tried to make eye contact with Jill’s father. His shoulders were hunched, his arms wrapped around his knees. He leaned slightly under the weight of his daughter resting against him. Colin crouched to join them, grabbing a rock and tossing it into the water. The ripple effect made their heads rise in unison, and in harmony they all sank again.

Stella crept away.

Sure, she was scared. Out of her mind, scared. But she had to move. She had to keep moving. If the glow proved to be just a figment of her imagination she would be back soon.

Climbing the row of boulders that dissected this grotto from the chamber next to it, Stella’s sandal skidded on the moist surface and she scraped her thigh as she slipped down the other side. Ignoring the mishap, she blinked, acclimating with the loss of light. Nervous fingertips touched the wall for guidance as memory directed her. Eventually a diffused glow made objects discernable again. Soon she found herself across from the sharp slash in the opposite wall.

Stella squinted into that crevice, prepared to meet the simmering eyes of a subterranean phantom. It was empty, though.

Forcing herself past that sinister lair, she hiked forward, feeling a tickle of wind flutter her bangs. The walls brightened as she progressed. There was an erratic bob to the glow, as if the source was in motion.

Casting a glance behind her, the path to the Wexlers was no longer visible. A yawning blackness had claimed it, seeking to obliterate her route. Stella took a deep breath. The pungent smell of brine filled her nostrils. Focusing on the pulsing glow, she followed the natural bend of the cavern until she heard something.

She froze.

Curse her chest. It wheezed. That thin whistle was all she was able to hear. Another step. Another few inches closer to the light. Suddenly a shadow formed on the wall. A nebulous hulk that loomed across the craggy surface and then vanished. Stella refused to give in to fear. She crept forward and heard a slothful tread. It was so close.

Another curve and she emerged into a vaulted cavern. The hint of wind continued across her face, but the breeze was warm–the cavern sultry. It was a shock. She had expected a biting chill in this underwater wasteland.

The light that she had chased was stationary now. Tucked behind a boulder, its gleam cast a halo around the rock’s perimeter. Stella took another step and then shrieked. A figure stepped into the light. A man. A man with a gaunt face and simmering eyes.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

Stella’s heart convulsed.

“What the hell?” Colin hissed behind her.

The figure retreated so that half of his body was consumed by the shadows. What remained visible was a medium-sized man in a knitted sweater, the cuffs unraveled, casting spaghetti noodles of wool around his wrists. Black pants hung loose, the knees patched with another swathe of fabric. A black knit cap revealed a fringe of graying hair over a thin, angular face. The eyes she had thought were simmering were merely reflecting off whatever the source of light was. The man bent into that glow and when he rose, a yellow radius ensnared him. In his scarred hand was a lantern.

Stella’s heart thudded.

“Who are you?” Colin asked as he stepped out from behind Stella, strategically guiding her behind him.

She wasn’t about to protest having Colin’s wide shoulders as a barrier between her and this creepy specter. She hiked up onto her toes to try and gauge the man’s reaction. Was he even real? Were she and Colin jointly deranged?

One graying eyebrow cocked inquisitively as the man studied Colin. He scratched under his hat and cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Sorry?

Stella clamped down on her fear. She cracked her head around Colin’s arm and demanded, “Sorry? For what? Who are you?”

Colin turned and narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m sorry you found your way down here,” the man uttered in a hoarse voice. “You must have been travelling with the woman?”

Colin tensed. “What woman?”

“A woman surfaced in the grotto not too long ago. She is not well, but we’re trying.”

We’re?

“Blonde?” Colin barked.

“Yes, yes,” the man kept his face averted.

He was looking deeper into the chamber.

“Are there more of you?” the man asked.

“More of us?” Stella quipped. “How many more of you are there?”

“Stella,” Colin lectured.

Pressing her lips tight, she contained herself, but the questions were brewing, boiling up in her throat.

“Yes,” Colin responded. “My father and my sister are behind us.”

The man peered over Colin’s shoulder. “Do they need medical attention?”

“Why, is there a hospital down here?” Stella retorted.

I mean, come on, seriously.

Colin gave her another quelling look. She glared back.

“My father is having trouble breathing, but he’s recovering.”

The man nodded. “Why don’t you go back to him? We’ll come for you.”

“We’ll? How did you get down here?” Colin asked. “How do we get back to the surface?”

Thank you, Col!

At least he was coming around and finally asking the critical questions.

The man lifted his lantern, bringing the light closer to his face. A chill jolted through her. This wasn’t the gaunt visage she had witnessed in the crack in the cave wall, but this man looked equally disturbing. He was pale to the point that his skin appeared translucent, with black lines scoring across his cheeks. Veins, no doubt, but their contrast was so pronounced under the thin skin. Shadows clung under gray eyes like the black grease football players use to reduce glare. His eyes seemed lifeless–little granite pebbles inserted in his lean face.

“It’s easy to get down here,” he uttered in a thick voice. The granite eyes shifted between her and Colin as he added, “It’s impossible to get back up.”