Gone Black

by Linda Ladd

  When she finally stopped going down and started her desperate fight back to the surface and blessed air, she still hadn’t touched bottom. She lifted her face and could see the light was above her, far, far above her, it seemed. Her eyes burned in the salt water, but she used every ounce of strength left in her arms to fight her way back up. It was hard to do, and she immediately was tossed backward, head over heels, by a strong current, back down, deeper and deeper, disorienting her perceptions again. But she fought for her life, knew she had to and tried to gain her direction back up, but it seemed the top of the water was getting farther away instead of closer. Another massive wave came down on her, spun her around wildly in the other direction, and after what seemed like forever, her body hit the undertow and it took her body down again and farther out to sea.

  Her brain went upside down, too, and she couldn’t think, couldn’t quite think what she should do, where the surface was or how to get there. She was hanging in a limbo of water and darkness and being pushed around and was getting close to complete panic. Her lungs seemed close to bursting, although she knew it had only been seconds, like Black had said, but it seemed like more than that, like hours. She let herself be swept along with the strong surge of cold water and somehow remembered to try to fight her way up as she was carried out to sea. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer, couldn’t fight the strength of the relentless undertow. But she had to. She had to do it. She had to find out if Black and Rico had made it. If they needed her to help them.

  Claire struggled desperately, taking great swipes downward through the water with her arms, injured hand forgotten, angled straight up, her lungs nearly bursting for want of air. Then she felt as if she couldn’t do it, couldn’t get there in time, that she was going to swallow water and drown, and that she was going to die today, after all. That it was all over. Her life was over.

  But then, when she thought she couldn’t last another second, she shot up and broke through the surface of the battering sea, gasping for air, pulling in a lungful of air before the next incoming wave hit her and knocked her back under the water and she was spiraled brutally downward again. She fought upward again with both arms, kicking her feet as hard as she could. She broke the surface again and this time was propelled upward on a cresting wave and taken under again. But she got another deep breath, and she remembered what Black had said, remembered how the undertows off the beaches in Tahiti were and how to get out of them. She turned under the water and swam adjacent to where she believed the shore to be and as hard as she could.

  When she came up for air again, she swallowed some salt water and coughed and gagged, but she was out of the undertow. She was still being thrashed around in the wild waves of incoming surf and being pulled back toward the rocks. But then she saw Black about twenty yards out from her, and he still had Rico in his arms. He was trying to get to her, and she turned and dove under the next wave and forced her arms to move some more and propel her in his direction. They met about the time another huge wave crested over their heads, and then Black had a tight hold on the back of her sweatshirt and was towing her out farther into the sea.

  Claire just hung there and let him do it for a few moments, trying to catch her breath, get her strength and her shattered nerves under control. After a few moments, she pulled free from him and swam beside him until they were outside the roar of the loud and tumultuous crashing surf and bobbing in the outer swells as they’d done so often when surfing in Tahiti.

  “You okay? You hurt?” Black yelled at her over the roar of the ocean.

  Claire shook her head, but she probably was hurt and just didn’t know it yet. He looked okay. Now Rico was clinging to Black’s back, his arms around his neck, no longer strapped to him, his eyes shut tight, his face white with fear, still terrified that he was going to drown.

  “We’ve gotta get in to that beach down there. See the sand? C’mon, we gotta swim for it and then let the waves push us in. Hear me, Claire? Can you make it that far?”

  Claire nodded again, but her body felt as if it had been beaten to a pulp for a thousand years. She ached all over, her head pounded, and the gauze had been ripped off her wounded hand. The salt water was burning like fire in the slashed open, gaping wound and hurting her like hell, but she hadn’t injured herself so badly that she couldn’t function. She wasn’t bleeding, except for her hand, which had reopened big-time and was pouring blood. As far as she could tell, neither Black nor Rico were hurt any more than they had been. Okay, she just had to make it to the beach. That’s all she had to do, just get to that little stretch of sand way down there, and they’d be free. For a while. Maybe.

  It took them a long time to struggle their way down there, just on this side of never, maybe. Claire was so exhausted by then, so wrung out in her head and her body, emotionally and every other way, that she just went limp and let Black drag her in through the shallows by the back of her sweatshirt. Once they reached the soft wet golden sand, they all three just collapsed there facedown. Claire panted hard, her cheek pressed into the soft sand, her fingers digging into solid earth at last, with rippling waves rolling in softly and rhythmically and splashing over her back. But they were safe, for now. They had made it out, and once she could turn over, she was going to be grateful to God that they all were still alive.

  Black got up first, on his knees, and peered down the beach at the fortress, where it stood very high on the cliff. Rico got up on his hands and knees and crawled up farther on the narrow strip of beach and just lay down on the warm, dry sand. Claire just lay there in the water, trying to garner up enough strength to move.

  “Are you okay, Claire? You sure you’re not hurt?”

  He turned her over and examined her arms and legs for injuries. Feeling for broken bones. Gently probing her mutilated hand. The doctor in him, she guessed. But he was pretty damn alert now. Maybe plunging off a towering cliff and into the cold, dark depths of the ocean and nearly drowning was a good remedy to put an end to those pesky bad acid trips. Not that anybody would ever choose that remedy over a couple of Valiums. Now her thoughts were getting silly, she thought, strangely outside herself. Maybe she had hit her head, after all, and way too hard. Maybe she was dead. Maybe they were all dead. Maybe that’s the way you got into heaven. Maybe you had to crawl through rippling water and over soft warm sand to enter the Pearly Gates.

  “Claire, sweetheart, say something. C’mon, can you get up?”

  Black was dragging her again now. She tried to sit up at one point, but her arms and legs felt weak and wobbly and weren’t quite cooperating yet. So he dragged her up next to Rico, and then he collapsed down on his back beside her. All three of them lay there awhile, their clothes soaking wet and clinging to their skin, catching their breaths, saying nothing. Then Black sat up again and leaned over her. He pushed her wet and sand-clotted hair away and got down close to her face.

  “Claire, listen to me. You’re safe now. You’re gonna be all right. You’re just in a little bit of shock. Can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah.” Little bit of shock? That had to be the understatement of the year. She heaved in some more deep breaths, appreciating oxygen as she had never in her life done before. She finally looked up at him. “Well, that was scary as hell.”

  Black smiled a little. “Tell me about it. You did good, babe. Real good.”

  She just stared at him. His eyes were all the way blue now, the clear and azure, beautiful blue of the sky behind him. She was very glad to see them come back to life. “You weren’t sure we could survive that jump, were you, Black?”

  “No, but I was pretty sure we could. And I was positive it was better than any of us being recaptured by Jaxy.”

  “Well, a hearty amen to that.”

  They lay there some more, on their backs, just resting and recovering and staring up at the sky, and that’s when Claire realized she still had the gun. It wasn’t in her waistband anymore. Now it had been forced down the leg of her p
ants and caught by the tight elastic at her ankle. She struggled to get it out and when she did, she laid it on the sand beside her good hand. She just hoped it would shoot. After about ten minutes, Black got up to his feet and walked off down over the damp sand, leaving footprints in the foamy waves. He was probably looking up at the cliffs very far above, trying to find a way to get up to the top. Claire wasn’t sure she could climb anything now, not even an anthill. Then he looked up and down the beach in both directions. Now the rifle that had been hanging across his back was gripped in his right fist. He looked like Robinson Crusoe—barefoot, bearded, castaway, and marooned in ragged clothes, but armed with a loaded AR rifle and lots of bruises.

  That’s when Claire managed to sit up under her own power, and she helped the little boy struggle up. He had his eyes open now. Some color had come back into his cheeks. Hers, too, probably.

  “I didn’t drown, did I? I did good, didn’t I?” he said to her, as if very proud of himself.

  Claire knew that feeling. “Yes, sir, you did very good. You’re free now, Rico. We got away from them.”

  The boy nodded but he didn’t look convinced about the getting away part. In fact, he looked fearful as he glanced back down the coast to the fortress then back at her. He took her good hand. “Thank you for getting me away from them.”

  Claire squeezed his hand. “And thank you for saving me.”

  Then they smiled at each other, and Claire hugged his slender shoulders.

  A moment later, Black was back, looking like his old, self-assured, take-charge self again. Except for the black beard, sunken black eyes, and cuts and scrapes. “We’ve got to find some kind of shelter for tonight. They probably won’t come down here yet unless there’s a cliff path leading down to the beach under that fortress. Is there, Rico?”

  “Yes, but the beach is not very long under the tower. They’d have to climb up some pretty high rocks to get over to this side where we are.”

  “Okay. Good boy.” Black nodded and smiled a little at Rico. “You did really well, Rico. You’re a brave boy. Not many kids would be that brave.”

  Rico grinned. He had sand all over his skin and clothes. His curly hair was sticking up and crusted with more sand. Claire knew she probably looked just like that, too. The wet sand felt scratchy and uncomfortable inside her clothes. They needed to get the hell off this awful, godforsaken island, damn it.

  Black helped them both stand up. “Let’s move back closer to the cliffs. They can probably see us from the ledge where we jumped. But if they can’t, maybe they’ll think we drowned and won’t come looking for us.”

  Yeah, right. That was probably for Rico’s benefit. But Claire hoped Black was right about that—not likely, but maybe. Right now, a very high cliff towered over them, providing some shade from the broiling Mediterranean summer sun, and Claire couldn’t believe they were in Sicily. The ocean stretched out in a vivid azure hue until it hit a strip of dark blue on the horizon far out to sea. They were pretty much trapped on that little strip of beach enclosed by rocky cliffs on all three sides. No water, no food, no way out, no hope, but they did have a couple of guns to kill people with. That was a tiny bit of a consolation. Maybe. If the weapons still worked. But not much.

  Once they backed up against the cliff face where they would be harder to see, Rico wanted Claire to hold him. He had been brave enough for one day, she guessed. He was done with any more show of bravado. He wanted to be babied, or mothered, more likely. Claire pulled him onto her lap, and he put his head on her shoulder and wept really hard for a little while, and she rubbed his back and patted him and murmured soothing words the same way she’d done for Black when he was so out of it and crazy on the drugs. After a little while of that gentle reassurance, Rico went to sleep. He felt very little and warm and limp where he lay up against her. He felt like Zachary would have felt, if he’d lived a few years longer.

  But she couldn’t let herself think about her own little son now, or the way he’d died one night in her arms, or anything else about her sweet, darling baby. She pushed his memory down into that nice safe dark trunk in her heart and slammed the lid down on it. Not now. She couldn’t bear to think about him right now. Then she felt the most overwhelming desire to get inside that trunk with his childish mementos and stay there with him, alone together, and forever. She wanted to pretend that Rico was Zachie, still alive and well and clinging to her, but she didn’t let herself go any further into that morbidity. She was in bad enough trouble already. Her mind was enough of an emotional wreck. She was still hanging on by a mere thread, her gutsiness shredded pretty damn thin and waterlogged with weariness. She now understood what completely spent really meant.

  So Claire just closed her eyes, too. She kept them closed until she heard Black come back from his explorations down the beach. He sat down close beside her and put his hand on her hair.

  “I’m sorry about the wedding, Claire,” he said after a moment but very softly, so as not to awaken the child. “I’m so damn sorry about all this.”

  Claire opened her eyes and looked up at him. Tired out of her mind, but she still went for light. “I’d say you had a pretty good excuse for not showing up. You know, that abducted by psychos, tied up, tortured, and drugged thing. I can forgive that, I guess, but don’t ever do it again.”

  Black gave a low laugh. “You’re in pretty good spirits after that death-defying leap into the ocean. Guess that’s why I’m marrying you. You got guts.”

  “Yeah, and they’re all pretty much used up now.”

  They had settled into their old habit, joking about the dangerous things in their lives. But that mood didn’t last long, not for either of them. To Claire’s chagrin, tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, hot and so full of emotion that it cut into her. God, she hated it when she cried. She hated when she acted like a big sissy. But she was at the moment and could barely choke out the words. “I thought you were dead. Then I knew you weren’t in the plane when they blew it up, but I thought they were gonna kill you before I could stop them. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  Black’s face remained serious. He lay down with his head propped in one palm. He brushed some sand off her face. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

  “How do you feel? Is it over, or do you still feel the drug?”

  “I think that jump and the adrenaline it brought out must’ve brought me all the way out of it. Cold water. Life and death, take your pick. And the Valium you gave me. I still have some brief flashes but I’ve got it under control, I think. You better keep an eye on me, though.”

  “Rico saved our lives, Black. Without him, we’d both still be in there. Locked up. No way out.”

  Black nodded, then he said, “God, I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’d probably be dead now if you hadn’t come in to get me.”

  “You’ve done it for me. A couple of times. And I haven’t quite saved you yet. We gotta big dilemma here, I do believe.”

  Black just smiled. “We’re gonna make it now. We’re gonna be all right. I’m gonna get us out of here, so we can have that blasted wedding. I’m beginning to believe it’s jinxed. Cursed, maybe. Doomed.”

  “Things were looking pretty good for that, before you had to go and get yourself in trouble.”

  “Which brings me to this question. What the hell were you thinking walking into their hands like that?”

  “You aren’t really gonna lecture me about that now, are you?”

  “I just can’t believe you walked into that hellhole with those lunatics. I can’t see Booker letting you do it. Or Novak. Especially Novak.”

  “Yeah, Booker told me all about your little decree. But know what? I just couldn’t quite settle for you getting your head blown off on our wedding day. Didn’t seem right, somehow. Thought we should be together, at least. You know, together in marriage, together in a psycho maniac’s lair.”

  “Well, like I said, thank you. But don’t you dare e
ver do it again.”

  Claire laughed softly. “Yep, you’re still trippin’ all right.”

  “Don’t have time to trip. Got to get us out of here.”

  “Well, all power to you. What are you gonna do?”

  “It’s getting dark. Not much we can do till dawn. No way can we climb up these cliffs at night. I found a little grotto back in the rocks where we can hide through the night. If we’re lucky, maybe we can get a fire started.”

  “I’d say we’ve been pretty lucky so far. Still breathin’, still plannin’ on a wedding.”

  “Yeah, still planning that.” Black put his arm around her, and they lay back on the sand, Rico still nestled in Claire’s arms. Black sighed. “Let’s try to rest a little longer, and then we’ll climb up to that grotto and dig in till morning.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Claire answered, but she wasn’t exactly secure in the outcome of their little escapade, not unless the cavalry showed up. And they had seen neither hide nor hair of the cavalry to date. Nor anybody else who wasn’t trying to kill them outright and/or torture them to death. Hey, but maybe everything would look just hunky-dory after a little time spent snoozing in Black’s arms and listening to his still-beating heart. Probably not, of course, but a girl could dream, and Claire needed to sleep, in order to face some very bad things that were coming at them as soon as the sun came up and the bad guys came looking for them again.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  As it turned out, Black was a real live Eagle Scout when on the run with a woman and child, fleeing from a family of psychopathic assassins. He got them up into the hidden grotto, started a fire with only some dry seaweed and a spark from scraping two rocks together. Wow, now she really loved him. She should’ve joined the Girl Scouts and sold some overpriced Samoas and Tagalongs to folks around the neighborhood. Problem was, when she was a little girl, she didn’t have any folks or any neighborhoods, much less any delicious cookies. And she’d probably give everything she had for one of those cookies at the moment. She had never been this hungry in her entire life.