22

 

We swayed to the violin music, the dying embers of the bonfire casting his angular jaw in shadow. Siyah’s eyes were closed, shutting out my searching gaze. Though he held me like he always did, hollow fear gnawed at the peace I tried so hard to reach, peace I used to feel in his arms. Flaring heat erupted and the bonfire flames billowed and lapped at the sky. Siyah’s face changed, his features twisting with pain, and I pulled away, panicked. A ribbon of blood traced across his t-shirt, the cut slashing his abdomen. I lunged for him, trying to stem the flow, yelling with fear for his life.

Blood. Fear. Loss.

Cold wind swept around us, a swirl of shifting sand that whirled around us like a tornado, whipping my hair and clothes. I reached for Siyah, but the more frantic I grasped at him, the further he drifted. I cried for him, my heart tearing in two as the distance in his gaze told me I was losing him all over again. A shuddering blow knocked me to the ground and the sand became shards of flying glass that lashed and tore at me, and then were gone in an instant.

Smoke, burning rubber, a distant horn. I staggered to my feet, flailing in the headlights. Beams askew, they lit up the bent guardrail and broken tree trunk. I turned, searching frantically, heart twisting.

“Siyah!”

I woke with my heart racing, the ache in my throat so painful I struggled to breathe. Sitting up, I tried to shake the fear of the dream from my mind. My clock read after midnight. Sonja slept in her bed next to me, and I bit my trembling lip to keep from waking her. I pulled off my blanket and wrapped it around myself before padding down the walkway. I passed my parents’ bedroom, peeked in and smiled at my father’s snore.

The small fridge did not have anything that looked good at this late hour, and I settled on a glass of orange juice. A half-moon, low and blue, cast tinted shadows on the galley floor and deck. I listened in the dark to the ting-ting of the ropes against the flagpole at the entrance of the harbor.

Vestiges of worry and adrenaline lingered, and I could not sit still at the dining table. Finishing off the juice, I stepped onto the side deck that ran the length of the cabin past the rooms to the aft deck. Water swelled and ebbed under our boat, and the gentle rocking soothed my nerves. Sinking onto a chair in the corner, I burrowed into the blanket and closed my eyes, willing my mind to slow. Feeling the cold settle around me, I blew out my breath to watch it turn to vapor.

Niklos, the tunnels, Elgin…I pondered my conversation with Coyote about the hauntings and strange deaths over the past five years, and a ribbon of worry slid down my spine. I was not sure if I should even speak with Thompson now that he’d made it clear he felt I was more than someone with very poor timing.

Choosing to leave during his fight with the Elgin family, I slipped away and wondered if he counted that as a guilty act. Now I didn't know who to trust or who I could talk to, or if keeping my mouth shut was the better idea. Seeing Siyah on that cliff brought so many questions and worries.

And still the memory of his arms around me sent a flutter through me. An ache so vast I thought I might collapse within myself, my longing for what we were, what we had, left me almost unable to draw breath. I’d only ever wanted him and yet something, or someone, always seemed to come between us.

Not something…Siyah. His decisions. His choices.

Frustration at my inability to let go of him flared, and I balled my fists. I thought I was over him. I thought I knew my worth. Isn’t that what I’d screamed at him the other day? Hands to my mouth, I blinked hot tears. I told him I didn’t want him. I told him what we’d had was over for good. I made it clear that I’d moved on. Why then, did it feel as if a part of me had died? Why did I feel grief and loss all over again?

A miniscule change in the tilt and list of the boat pulled my attention to the darkness around me. I paused, listening. I peered inside the craft’s windows as I padded towards the foredeck. Was someone awake? No lights went on inside, and I started to dismiss the feeling. The loose plank just inside our cabin squeaked. I froze. Standing in the doorway of the cabin, I could make out movement in the darkness.

Furtive and crouched, the behavior spiked the hairs on my arms. Mouth flapping uselessly, I tried to scream, to alert my family, but I stood rooted in place, frozen with fear. The figure moved down the hall, past my parents’ room to the rear of the boat.

Sonja!

“Stop,” I screamed and ran at the form. “Papa!”

I launched myself, connecting with solid muscle as the intruder spun, caught me mid-flight, and threw me across the cabin. I flew in surreal slowness, registering a light flicking on, before I hit the side table with a crippling crash. My side on fire, I writhed, gasping for screams that would not come.

My father’s harsh shout and the sound of clattering dishes pushed me to my feet. Holding my side, I gritted against the flare of pain, searching for something, any kind of weapon.

My mother screamed, holding my sister down the hallway as my father wrestled with a figure in the galley. They rolled in and out of the light from the room in a stroboscopic knot of arms and legs. I screamed as my father flew back, his head hitting the doorframe, eye bloody.

“Armă!” He screamed at me and pushed me into his room. Gun.

I fell over my own feet, stumbling in a rush to run across their bed. The sounds of smashing furniture and thrashing followed.

Sonja’s and my mother’s tandem cries echoed in my ears as I pulled the rifle from the closet. While ratcheting back the round, I ran for galley and arrived just as my father’s fear-laced scream hit me.

The man stood over him, his arm raised, with a gun pointed at my father.

I pulled the trigger.

The concussive blast threw me back as pain pulsed through my shoulder. Blinded by the muzzle flash, I flailed. “Papa! Papa!”

“He’s gone. He’s gone.” My father’s big hand closed over mine, and I saw his bloody lip pull back in a grimace as he took the rifle from my shaking hands. “Tacticos, Raven…be still.”

Quavering sobs tore out of me as I clung to him.

Sonja and my mother wrapped themselves around us.

I rubbed my face back and forth over his sweater, unable to breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw drops of blood leading away from us. I’d hit him, whoever he was, who came to hurt us. Anger and fear whirled within me, and I pushed away from him.

“What is happening, Papa?” I shouted. “What…” I collapsed into hitching cries.

Calls from the other boats floated to us as lights blinked on all over the harbor. Neighbors shouted our names asking if anyone was hurt. Men in pajamas and hastily thrown on pants ran from their homes to ours with kitchen knives, wrenches, whatever was at hand when the shot rang out. In the distance, I heard the wail of a child or baby.

And all I could do was sit and stare at my father with a thumping heart. Someone had pointed a gun at him, had meant to kill him. Bile rising, I ran to the bathroom, barely making it as I heaved with what seemed like every fiber of my body.

Leaning against the toilet, my head on the cold rim, I forced breaths into my lungs. In and out. Concentrating on just surviving this terrible day. What if what I’d done or seen in the tunnels or on the beach put my family in peril? What if I was to blame for nearly killing my father? Tired of being afraid and so angry at what almost happened, I shook from head to toe and silently cried out to God.

Help me! I don’t know what to do, Lord. What do I do?