Deep Beneath: A Psychic Vision Novel

by Dale Mayer

  He didn’t say anything, just tucked her up close.

  “Who am I,” she whispered, “and where am I?”

  He didn’t say anything, but then one of his big hands rubbed up and down her back, the heat of his hand almost like a hot iron. She moaned in relief, feeling his body heat soak through the sheet and into her poor chilled skin.

  He stroked her gently but firmly, and he whispered, “You were in an accident in Puget Sound,” he said. “But I’m not exactly sure who you are.”

  She stiffened and rolled over to look up at him. “You don’t know who I am?”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t have any ID on you when we found you.”

  She let the we part escape for a moment. “Where did you find me?”

  “We found you on the beach,” he whispered. “You weren’t breathing initially. But I resuscitated you, then I picked you up and brought you back here.”

  “And are you so short on blankets that you don’t have any for me?” she asked, shivering.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “I’ll get some. I had the heat turned up in here so much that you were kicking everything off. So I left you with just a sheet.”

  “Now I’m so cold,” she said. “I’d really love to have the blankets back again.”

  “Give me a moment.” He lifted himself off the bed with one of those stunningly smooth movements that made her think he had to be an athlete. He left, only to return a few moments later with a couple big heavy blankets, which he spread out on top of her. One was super soft, and he tucked that one around her neck.

  She whispered, “Thank you.”

  “If you can stay awake a little bit, I’ll get you a hot cup of tea to warm you up on the inside.”

  Her teeth chattering still, she nodded. “Thank you. That would help.”

  He disappeared out the door.

  The blankets settled on her body, giving her the warmth she craved, but didn’t stop the questions racing in endless circles in her mind. Where the hell was she? And what had she been doing in the sound? And who was this man? She owed him her life. She closed her eyes, feeling the welcome heat wrap around her. She let it take her back under, and she fell asleep.

  When Samson opened the door to her room again, he stopped at the threshold and smiled. “So much for staying awake for a cup of tea,” he murmured.

  He walked in and set the teacup on the night table beside her, in case she woke up. He studied her face and saw a pink flush to her cheeks, and she didn’t look like death warmed over anymore. He checked her body temperature with a hand to her forehead, happy it was back to normal. She’d been feverish for a long time. When it had broken, he’d had to change her T-shirt yet again and had tucked her up on the bed just under the sheet to keep her temperature somewhat balanced. He’d been checking her every hour. But, of course, she woke up when alone. At least now she appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

  He turned and, with a final glance behind him, shut the door. Back in the main room, King and Queen were both stretched out in front of the fire. Samson had a big wood stove too, and it was going partly to help keep her warm, partly because it was a chilly stormy night outside. Both of the dogs, great big Irish wolfhounds, watched him as they lay without moving.

  “She’s doing better, guys,” he said. Both tails started to wag. He smiled, reached down and scratched them on the shoulders. “She’ll be fine.”

  He straightened and walked over to the teakettle and made himself a hot lemon tea, and then turned and added a shot of whiskey to it. He walked out onto the porch, seeing the stormy waves crashing on the rocks below. This was his home, where he spent a lot of time whenever he needed to get away from the corporate business world. She was damn lucky he was here at all. Even luckier that he got the call saying she was in trouble. Not that he’d had a choice to ignore it. But he needed her to remember who she was in order to question her about how she got here. He especially needed her to remember what had happened to her. Until the weather cleared and his normal communication channels opened again, he wouldn’t get a better answer.

  But what he really wanted to know was how the hell she got the bullet wound in her shoulder and a second one across the side of her head. Who the hell had tried to kill her? Or was that not the intention at all? He studied the tiny metal cylinder he’d pulled from her wound. Then placed it on the wooden chopping block, picked up the hammer he’d brought in for just purpose and smashed it flat. Whoever was tracking her, just lost contact …

  Chapter 3

  When she woke to the rising sun in her window—presumably the next day—she felt better. Until she rolled over. The pain caught her breath and stole it away, leaving her gasping for air. When she could, she slowly made her way to the bathroom area, and, when she was done, she stood in front of the mirror again. This time she realized the straggly hair on the side of her head had been sheared back.

  She gasped and leaned closer. Fresh stitches went all alongside her head, and the hair had been cut back on either side of them. No bandage covered the wound. Still, seeing the wound helped explain why she had a massive headache. Were there more injuries? She checked the rest of her body.

  Under the T-shirt she found her left shoulder heavily bandaged. And hurt like hell. She must have been too cold and too confused last time she woke to have been aware of it. Her knees were scraped raw; one of her hips was bloody and bruised, and the rest of her looked like it had been tossed through a meat grinder.

  She didn’t get it. Had she been in a car accident? Had she been beaten up then then tossed in the sound? None of this made any sense. She made her way slowly back to the bed and stretched out, grateful that the bed was as soft as it was. Her consciousness had only given her awareness of more places that hurt. And that wasn’t comforting.

  When the door opened again, she stared up at him. “What’s your name again?”

  “Samson. Samson Cartwright,” he said gently. He sat down on the side of the bed and moved her hair from the stitches.

  “I just saw that injury,” she said slowly, amazed at how gentle he was. “What happened to my shoulder?”

  “If I knew the answer to that question,” he said, “I wouldn’t have so many questions in my head.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m still struggling with this.”

  “Understood,” he said. “Do you think you can handle some food?” He glanced at the cold cup of tea and smiled. “And maybe another cup of tea?”

  Her gaze flew to the full cup, and she briefly remembered him suggesting a cup last night. Was it last night? “Sorry. I guess I fell asleep again.”

  “Don’t apologize,” he said. “Sleep is the best thing for you.”

  She nodded. “Agreed.” Just then her stomach grumbled. Her gaze widened. “I guess that answers that question. Is there anything to eat?”

  He nodded. “Do you want to come out to the main room or stay in here?”

  She was eager to see where she was, but she didn’t have much on in the way of clothes. “I don’t suppose you have anything warmer for me to wear, do you?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared, and she sat up slowly, throwing the sheet and blankets off to one side. She could have just wrapped herself in a blanket and ventured from this room. But, as she looked at her feet, she saw they were scraped raw too. She was amazed at the level of damage she saw.

  When he came back, she asked, “How are my feet completely trashed? It’s like somebody threw me into a meat grinder and spit me back out again.”

  “That’s not a bad analogy,” he said quietly. “Here’s a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt my assistant left last time she visited. Plus a clean white T-shirt, if you want that too.”

  Eagerly she reached for them, held them up and chuckled. “I gather she is tall.”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  He left, and she slowly pulled on the leggings. Not only were they massively long but they were wide. Yet they had a decent elastic a
nd stayed on her waist. That was what she cared about.

  She didn’t have any underwear, and that would have been nice too. She rolled up the bottom of the leggings and snatched the sweatshirt. It was also miles too big. But there was a pair of socks. She slid her feet into the socks, rolled the tops down and stood. Just the softness under her feet made her sigh happily.

  She made her way to the door, opened it and stepped out. Her gaze wandered the massive open room surrounded by windows on all sides. Wilderness surrounded her—that and water. They were hundreds of feet above the crashing waves, but the view? Stunning. A light sigh slipped out as she realized she was in a house along the coast. A home she’d have died to own.

  In the distance she caught sight of someone walking in the trees. For some reason that made her feel better to know she wasn’t out here alone. Finally her gaze landed on Samson working at a big kitchen island. He looked up and grinned. “I know I look like a child in dress-up clothes,” she muttered, “but they’re warm, and they’re dry, so thank you. Besides, with the view outside the window, why would you look at me?”

  He motioned at the large fireplace ahead. “Come and sit down.”

  She walked closer and then stopped when she saw the two massive dogs with shaggy gray coats. “Wow. Are they friendly?”

  He gave a command, and both dogs sat up. He held out his hand to point at her and said, “Friend.”

  Both dogs came to sniff around her, their tails wagging. She reached down to pet them but didn’t have to go far as both their heads came almost to her chest. “Wow.”

  “They already know who you are,” Samson said. “They were with me on the beach. In truth, they’re the ones that found you.”

  She smiled at the two dogs who appeared to be grinning back at her. “Thank you then, both of you.” She scratched the top of their heads. With eyes crossed, both dogs looked like they were melting at her attention. She chuckled. “They are quite the soft touches.”

  “Only because they know you as a friend now,” he said. “In truth, they’re watchdogs.”

  She nodded, and, when she could, she made the few extra steps toward the fireplace and sat down on one of the huge overstuffed recliners. She curled her feet underneath her and sat sideways, wincing as she shifted enough to get her shoulder in a better position to avoid pain. “I don’t have a clue where we are, but this fireplace is lovely.”

  “You’re on an island in Puget Sound,” he said. “It’s my retreat from the corporate business world—weather permitting.”

  Her gaze flew up to his. “I can’t see you in the corporate world.”

  He chuckled. “That’s because you see me in my rugged mode. I wear three-piece suits and run a boardroom with ease,” he said with a smile. “But I prefer being here.”

  “I can understand that,” she said. “I would too.” She looked out the window to find it rainy, and dark clouds were moving in. “It is daytime, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But last night we had a hell of a storm.”

  She nodded. “I could hear water. I wasn’t sure if that was part of my dreams or part of what I heard outside.”

  “It stormed all night,” he said. “I haven’t been outside yet to see how many trees are down, but it looks like the island got lashed pretty decently.”

  “So you have a boat here?” she asked, and his nod was immediate. “Are you the only one on the island?”

  “I am at the moment.” He nodded slowly. “Some of my research students come and spend time as well. Although I haven’t had any of them here recently.”

  “What kind of corporation do you run?”

  “My own. Biotech. A marine research company,” he answered. “I’m a marine biologist.”

  She stared at him. “Instinctively I want to say I am too. But I can’t say that for sure because I really don’t know.”

  He smiled. “That’s all right. We’ll figure out who you are soon.”

  She shook her head. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve sent pictures of you to the mainland, in the hopes somebody has reported you missing.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea.” She chuckled. “I don’t think I make a very good stranded person. It never occurred to me to do something like that.”

  “You don’t have a phone on you,” he said, “so it’s not something you could do. But I have a big office and lab space here,” he said, “so I keep a lot of equipment running, and I have a connection to the outside world.”

  “So it’s hardly a real getaway then, is it?”

  He smiled. “Let’s say, it’s as real a getaway as is possible to have right now.”

  She understood. “I feel like I was trying to get away too,” she murmured. “But I’m not sure from what or why or how.”

  “And don’t push it,” he warned. “Head wounds can be tricky. You’ve come a long way already. You’re alive. Let your memories come back in their own time. I’ll show you around when you feel better.” He turned to the large kitchen. “I’ll cook you something. What do you think your stomach can handle?”

  “Oh,” she whispered. “I don’t know. How about something easy to digest. Do you have any bread? Maybe a piece of toast?”

  “If you want to toast it on the fire, you can have toast,” he said. “Otherwise, how about if I make you an egg sandwich?”

  She brightened. “An egg sandwich sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

  He nodded, and, as she watched, he added wood to the heater stove before heading over to a large chopping block countertop.

  “Do you not have electricity?”

  “I have multiple power sources, but no reason not to fry a couple eggs over this small propane burner.”

  She nodded and watched, fascinated as he made two fried egg sandwiches. When he came to the fireplace where she sat, a plate in hand with a large sandwich on top, she stared at it in awe. “Wow, who knew you could make something like that so fast.”

  “Don’t you cook?”

  She shrugged. “No clue. Thankfully we don’t have to test it right now.” She picked up the sandwich and took a big bite, then sat back, munching happily. “Oh, this is lovely. Thank you very much.”

  He smiled and kept his eye on her as he ate his own sandwich. She figured he was probably wondering if the food would come right back up. A horrible thought, but something she did have to give a little credence to.

  When she was halfway through, she stopped and stared at her plate. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I can finish this.”

  He nodded. “Not a problem. Your stomach can only take so much right now.”

  She nodded and handed her plate to him. “Do you want more?” She happened to glance at the dogs to see both of them following the trail her plate made as it went from her lap to Samson’s.

  He laughed. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  She snuggled back into her chair and watched as he devoured the food. When he was done, he stood and took both plates to the sink, where he washed them. Then he returned with a coffeepot in his hand. “How about it? Do you want to try for a cup of coffee?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I so do.”

  He poured her a cup and asked, “Do you need cream?”

  She shook her head, then gasped in pain at the movement. “I don’t think so.” She held the steaming mug and blew gently at the top. She didn’t know what the hell had happened, but honestly, she was feeling pretty damn glad to be where she was. There was something incredibly comforting about sitting beside a fireplace like this. With a full tummy and a hot cup of coffee, she could almost believe she was on retreat, something she’d always wanted to do. At least she thought so.

  Regardless she gave a happy sigh and said, “I’m not sure what the hell happened, but I’m really glad to be here right now.” She glanced at him and caught a look in his eye that made her question her surroundings suddenly. “Unless you know something I don’t?”

  His gaze widened. “Like what?”

  “Like
how I happened to land on your beach?”

  He chuckled. “All kinds of reasons for that,” he said. “I’m not sure I have a definitive answer. But we will find answers.”

  She nodded. “I have such weird images rolling through me. Maybe they are memories I don’t know. Nothing makes sense.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like something in the water lifting me from underneath. Pushing me to the surface again and again, as if knowing I was struggling out there, knowing I needed air.” She shook her head. “I know it’s fanciful, but something massive came under me, giving me a ride to the surface so I could survive.”

  “Doesn’t sound fanciful at all,” he said calmly. “Stories are told all over the world of people being aided and abetted by mammals of the ocean.”

  She nodded. “But,” she said, “I don’t know exactly what it was. I didn’t recognize whatever was helping me.” In a barely audible voice, she added, “It was so dark out there, both above and below the water. … Nor did I recognize the voices that called out to me several times.”

  She also couldn’t discount an experience she’d had a long time ago and with a similar voice.

  “You weren’t in any state to recognize very much,” he said. “Remember that you were panicked, and you were alone. And you were dying. If there was anybody, anywhere, anyhow, their help was appreciated. You weren’t asking questions then. You were just accepting, grateful for a chance to live another day.”

  “And I still am. So thank you for saving my life,” she whispered.

  He said with an equally generous smile, “You’re welcome.”

  *

  As he watched, her eyes slipped closed, she woke with a start, then lost the fight. He grabbed her almost empty coffee cup before it dumped onto the floor. He sat in the chair beside her, just watching as she slumbered.

  “What brought you to my shores?” he whispered. “Was this Jamie’s doing?”

  The sleeping woman didn’t answer.

  Samson mulled over her sudden arrival, her broken memories, the voices she mentioned and then her bullet wounds … “What happened to you, and who hated you enough to want you dead?”