by C A Devine
Extremities
C. A. Devine
Copyright © 2014 C. A. Devine
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
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For Aidan and Harriet
Contents
Cover
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
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22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
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31
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38
Epilogue
1
The Apparition (Day 1)
Don’t believe your eyes.
‘Hey New York.’
Hallucinations, my shrink tells me, are common with my condition.
‘Hey English.’
Max stood on the dock and against the pink glow of dawn she looked like an apparition. I froze, clamping my eyes shut. Fear gnawed at my gut.
I pried one lid open.
Still there.
‘Can I come aboard?’ her voice was a scratchy whisper.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I managed a nod.
She grabbed the forestay and lifted a shaky leg over the chrome bow rail. I watched her shuffle down the side deck, an oversized tracksuit hanging from her scrawny frame, the hood pulled tight around her head. She looked exhausted and fragile and achingly beautiful.
Was she really here?
I slid back through the hatch into the main cabin. She stepped down behind me.
‘You should be in the hospital,’ I said.
‘Couldn’t stay, had to tell you something.’ She studied me a moment, her normally bright eyes, dull. ‘You don’t look so good yourself, New York, what happened?’
‘It’s a long story. Do they know you’re here?’
She shook her head, ‘I don’t know how long we have, New York, so listen up.’ She wheezed a breath, but her voice still cracked as she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
She slumped against the wooden galley. ‘You need to lie down,’ I said, reaching out to grab her. She scrambled away, raising her hands. I backed up. She nodded, then shuffled past me up into the forward cabin and her face crumpled as she lowered her body sideways onto the wide bunk. ‘I need to tell you,’ she began again.
‘Shh,’ I said, pulling a soft blanket up over her, ‘sleep first then you can tell me.’
‘I’m sorry for dismissing you when you told me you loved me,’ she puffed it out at speed. ‘I wanted to tell you the same, but I couldn’t.’
I nodded, ‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when it mattered.’
‘You’ve told me now. That’s what matters,’ I whispered.
‘I’m so tired.’
‘Sleep,’ my heart was aching.
‘That is not going to happen, New York,’ she snorted.
It was then, at that moment, that I made the most reckless yet vital, decision of my entire life.
*
We were two hours out to sea; I was sitting on deck watching ships power towards the Strait of Gibraltar, when the radio traffic grabbed my attention.
I let the sound wash over me until the third time a voice said, in English, ‘This is the Spanish Coastguard. Would the vessel at position three six degrees, three four minutes, one eight seconds, north. Zero zero seven degrees, zero five minutes east, please identify yourself. Over.’ I glanced over at the GPS and froze. It was us.
Sixty seconds later. ‘This is the Spanish Coastguard. Would the vessel at position,’ they repeated the coordinates, ‘please identify yourself. Over.’ I sat rigid. Did I think if I moved they would see me? I turned my head left then right, nothing appeared on the horizon. They would know our name if they were here, stupid.
Think it through, Ryan, think it through.
They had been calling for the last hour. They were looking for someone. My guess … us. They were trying to verbally identify all the boats on radar. It was highly unlikely they had enough craft to carry out a visual check on all vessels.
And it was the Spanish Coastguard – Max wasn’t on the run from the Spanish, so how much of their resources were they going to allocate to this? Good, bad. Right, wrong. Justice, injustice. Governments can spout all they want about what their priorities are, but if you’ve ever worked in law enforcement, you know priority number one is money. They weren’t going to send a boat to check us out unless they had cause. I just had to act normal.
So get up off your ass, Ryan; not talking to them was hardly acting normal.
I slid down the wooden ladder to the chart table and picked up the radio’s microphone. I pushed the button and affected my best English accent, ‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey. I am the vessel at position,’ I read back the coordinates. ‘How may I be of assistance? Over.’
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. Can you please confirm your flag and your purpose in Spanish waters? Over.’
‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey. British. And holidaying with one’s family. Over.’ Well, that’s how they spoke on TV.
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard.’ I sank into the cream leather pilot chair. ‘Can you please confirm type and length of your vessel? Over.’ Yes, a conversation on maritime radio is this tedious.
‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey. We are a sailing vessel of …’ The forward cabin erupted in a shriek. I let go of the button and hurtled to the door. Inside Max lay on her front grasping the sheets. ‘Max, you’re having a nightmare, wake up.’
The radio crackled behind me. ‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. Is there a problem? Over.’
‘Max, come on, wake up, it’s just a nightmare,’ I said louder. She let out another scream.
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. I repeat. Do you have a problem? Over.’
I lowered myself onto the edge of the bunk, ‘Max,’ I touched her shoulder, gave it a shake. ‘Come on Max, you have to wake up now,’ I flinched back as she screamed again.
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. Do you require assi
stance? Please respond. Over.’
I shook her harder this time. ‘Max, wake up, you need to wake up.’
Her eyes flashed open. She sprung up and propelled me off the bunk, ‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ I stumbled back, smacking my head off the door.
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. Do you wish us to send assistance? Please respond. Over.’
‘Th-That’s us,’ I stuttered, grabbing the door and dragging myself up. ‘You were screaming. I couldn’t talk to them. I th-think they are trying to find the Two At A Time. They’re asking all vessels on radar to identify themselves. You have to stay quiet.’
I stumbled back across the main cabin to the chart table, my heart thumping. I sank back into the chair and picked up the handset. My hand was shaking as I pressed the button, ‘Spanish,’ shit, I was supposed to be English. ‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey, we do not require assistance. Thank you. Over.’ I let go and puffed out a breath.
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. We heard a scream coming from your vessel. Can you please identify the problem? Over.’ So much for not raising suspicion.
Think, Ryan, think. ‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey. My daughter was having a nightmare, but she is fine now. Over.’
‘Jane Grey, this is the Spanish Coastguard. Please state your ship’s registration number. Over.’
This was not good. I looked up as I heard Max pad into the cabin. ‘I told them we were British,’ I said.
‘Is that what that accent is?’ She grabbed a pen from the chart table and scribbled on a pad, ‘Read this out to them.’
‘Spanish Coastguard, this is the Jane Grey, my registration number is Sierra, Sierra, Romeo,’ and I rhymed off the six digit number she had written. ‘Over.’
I ran my hand through my hair, stopping at the lump that was already sprouting. We waited. One more bump at this stage wasn’t going to make much difference. We waited. What if they did come looking? If they checked the number, it wouldn’t match the name. You can’t outrun anyone in a sailboat. All you can hope for is to hide in the vastness of the ocean.
‘Jane Grey, this is this Spanish Coastguard. Thank you for your cooperation. Out.’ A minute later I heard the same voice start again, in Spanish, this time, but I recognised the format. They were asking a new blip on the radar for identification.
I slumped back in the chair and blew out a breath. From the corner of my eye I could see Max watching me. ‘We should take the radar reflector down until we get away from the coast,’ she said. I nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologise, you were having a nightmare,’ I said.
‘What I said, when I woke up. I didn’t mean. And pushing you, I’m …’
‘It’s okay.’
‘It’s not.’
‘It is,’ I interrupted her. ‘Max, I was there, when they found you, I saw …’ I didn’t know what else to say.
She chewed on her bottom lip, her downturned eyes briefly floating up to me. Then she turned and shuffled back to the forward bunk sitting down on the edge. ‘I’m so tired,’ she said, sinking her head in her hands, ‘but every time …’ Her voice was weary.
I stood in the doorway, ‘Get into the aft bunk, it’s more comfortable at sea.’ Her eyes darted up to me again, questioning. ‘I’ll sleep here.’ I stepped away from the door to let her through.
She crawled onto her front in the back cabin. I picked a small brown bottle up from the locker and handed it to her. She read the label, ‘Diazepam?’
‘It might help you sleep.’
She tilted her head up towards me, ‘Why do you have a prescription for Valium, New York?’
I shrugged. It didn’t feel like the right time to get into it.
*
She was out for twelve hours this time – and they say the drugs don’t work – by then we were 100 miles out on gently rolling waves and I had formulated a seriously ludicrous plan.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, sticking her head out of the main hatch.
I was sitting on the puffy blue cushions in the cockpit, watching the lights of boats on the horizon, ‘Well, here’s the thing, English. I think I might have kidnapped you.’
A small smile appeared on her pale lips. She gave a tiny shake of the head before she disappeared below again.
A half-hour later she climbed gingerly from the hatch smelling of my mint shower gel and wearing only my NYPD t-shirt and a white towel on her head. She handed me a steaming mug of coffee, then settled herself on the cushions across from me. I sipped the brown liquid, it was laced with whisky, ‘You trying to get drunk?’
‘Totally. Absolutely. I’m not a big fan of the real world right now.’
‘Do we have enough liquor to get us through the journey?’
‘I don’t know where we’re going, but it’s seriously doubtful.’
‘So, Max isn’t your real name.’
She stretched her long legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, ‘No, but when I was a kid, I always wanted to be a boy called Max, boys had more fun. And it’s not every day you get to choose your own name.’
‘Lizzie.’
She nodded, leaned her head back and looked up at the stars, ‘Is your name still Mac, Lieutenant?’ There was heavy emphasis on the rank. I guess we both had secrets. ‘You must tell me about that someday, mystery man.’
I smiled, ‘Mystery man, huh? I like that. It makes me sound kinda sexy.’
‘You don’t need a title to make you sound kind of sexy, New York. Talking of mysteries, Jane Grey?’ She raised a dark eyebrow glancing across at me.
‘The Nine Days’ Queen.’
‘I know who she is, I’m just surprised …’
‘What, that I do? Am I, like, stupid because I’m American?’
She laughed, ‘No, you’re, like, stupid because you’re pretty.’
I loved this woman.
2
The Naturist
My name is Mackenzie ‘Mac’ Ryan, Lieutenant, NYPD; fourth generation Irish. If you’re North American, you’ll probably glance past this with mild interest. However, as I have learned in recent weeks, if you’re a Brit then you’re probably, at this moment, sniggering at my name. She did on our first date, but that was after I had seen her naked. So I guess we were even.
I have this friend Marcus from grade school, a stockbroker. His mother’s Spanish and he’s into sailing. So he bought a yacht and keeps it in Spain, but like most rich people and their toys, he doesn’t have time to use it.
I was out of the hospital a week and physically on the mend (but no psychiatrist was close to signing me fit for duty) when Marcus suggested I use the boat.
I’m a New Yorker through and through, and apart from a couple of trips to the Caribbean I’d never been overseas. But here’s the thing: when you have issues you don’t want to face, running away seems like a damn good idea. And when you have a brush with death, you start obsessing about all the things you haven’t seen yet. And there are some things – I was about to realise – you just don’t see in New York.
My first morning, I headed for the beach: cloudless blue sky, golden sand and emerald sea with small white crests lapping the shoreline, just what the doctor ordered. I lay down on a lounger and opened Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, one of those books you’re supposed to read, but never have time. I was through a chapter before I stopped and looked around, and here are the three things I noticed – me being a star New York detective with fifteen years on the force.
One, not many people were renting the loungers, most lay on towels. Hey, I’m normally a tough guy, but I was in recovery, so cut me some slack. Two, about twenty per cent of the people on the beach were naked. Three, about half of the naked people were male couples.
Okay, so now you want to know my reaction, right?
Initial reaction: shock. Like I said, I haven’t travelled much. Next: I looked down and checked I was still wearing my
swimming shorts – in case this was one of those weird dreams where you’re naked and everyone starts laughing at you – they were, thankfully, still there. Third: I shrugged my shoulders and reckoned this fit into the category of never seen before.
So here’s my next first. I’ve never seen a woman fully naked, before I’ve even reached first base. But there she was, strolling self-assuredly out the water.
I watched her from behind my airport designer shades. She stood tall and glistening, shaking water from long lengths of spiraling dark hair. Her full breasts waved tantalisingly from her toned body. I scrolled down to her curvaceous hips and lingered awhile, too shy to go any further. She turned to look out to sea and I went south to a fabulous round booty. I was glad I was still wearing my shorts.
She rubbed her body with a towel, wrapped a siren red sarong around her and strode off the beach without even glimpsing in my direction. Now, I was twenty pounds lighter than normal, after my stay in hospital, and hadn’t seen a gym in a while, but go figure.
I picked up my book, lay back and let the sun work its magic on my injured flesh. This trip had definitely been a good idea.