The Chilling Tide

by T M Bashford

  “Motor. You could steer while I plot our course.” Then I’ll have a chance to radio for help.

  “I’m not leaving your side.”

  “Then we’re not going anywhere. Drop the anchor. I have to plot a course or we’ll end up in the South Pole.”

  Brett scours the ocean. He’s nervous, possibly because of our distance from land. Or of getting caught. “I’m not leaving your side.”

  I release the anchor again and he follows me into the cabin where I perch on the nav station seat. “When Drew finds out I haven’t returned, he’ll have Search and Rescue out in force.”

  Brett cuts to me. “Then you have to radio the SAR guys. Tell them you’ve decided to go on a little trip and that you’re fine.”

  “Okay then,” I say. They’ll know something weird is going on if I report that information.

  “But, Shae, I’ll use this if you say anything is wrong.” He waves the gun in my face and I retract my neck in fright.

  I hold the radio to my mouth. Brett presses the weapon’s butt against my temple.

  “Stop!” he shouts. My ear squeaks. “They’ll think it’s odd. People wouldn’t normally tell them they’re changing routes, would they? That’s more for flights.” He slips his fingers into my pocket and pulls out my cell, the gun still against my head. “Message Drew. Tell him you have to go on another trip.”

  Tears crowd my eyes. I can’t do it to Drew again.

  “Now, Shae. Tell him you won’t marry him.”

  I take the phone, trembling. I can barely see the letters to text.

  Brett snatches it from me. “On second thought, I’d better do it.” He taps out a message, one-handed and slow because his other hand is occupied with the gun, and he keeps looking up to watch me. We’re also swaying and it’s hard to keep balanced.

  I can’t marry you. Sorry. I’m going on another trip. Don’t follow me.

  “Can we go?” he growls, impatient.

  “No.” I picture Drew receiving the message. I turn away to hide my crumpling face. “I have to set up all the equipment and do my checks. There’s no point rushing preparation. Crossing the Tasman is dangerous.”

  Brett’s face drops, a small victory. He hovers as I sit at the nav table and pull out my charts, plot our course, pretend to program the autopilot, study the radar, set the AIS alarm. I work as slowly as possible.

  “Talk me through what you’re doing,” he says after a while.

  “I need to take some readings with this,” I wave the sextant at him, “from on deck. It helps me navigate using the sun and stars.” I don’t reveal we have an autopilot because using the sextant will delay us.

  “There are no stars,” he says and throws his hand up to the blue sky.

  “Why don’t you allow me to do the sailing? You can do the crazy-dude-with-a-gun thing.” I push past him to go up on deck and he follows, holding the harness that’s connected to me.

  “I’m not crazy,” he states.

  “Sure. Kidnapping me to sail across the Tasman without any equipment checks or supplies or food isn’t crazy at all. If something happens and we run into a bad storm, we could die—either from capsizing or starvation.”

  He slumps onto the bench seat. “Let’s go north first, then. We can get organized farther up the Australian coast.”

  “That’d be safer.” I take more readings with the sextant. “I need the almanacs to finish this off.” I jump below and write down some notes, check the books, scribble more notes. Brett reviews my every move, so close I keep banging his arm with mine.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’m getting us set up. Does it look like I’m reaching for the radio to yell for help?”

  “Now why would you do that? I’m not going to hurt you, Shae. I love you. I want us to be together. If I was going to harm you, I’d have done so already. I’ve sat by your side while you’ve slept, helpless, in your room at Drew’s house—”

  “You broke into Drew’s?”

  “Didn’t need to. You left the French doors open for me. I took your actions as a secret invitation from your subconscious self—the part of you that loves me.”

  I’m horrified and speechless for a moment as I recall the times I thought Drew was in my room watching me. It hadn’t been Drew. I’m about to tell Brett he cannot force me to love him, that I’ll never love him, when I spot the EPIRB and an idea sparks.

  George said he registered the EPIRB to Drew for his and Finn’s journey from Samoa. I need enough time to set it off so emergency services will receive my distress call and location. Will Brett bust me? I flick some more switches, attempting to appear busy and as if I’m doing what needs to be done. When I lift the beacon from its bracket, I don’t dare look at Brett. I raise the antennae and press the button in one movement.

  Brett snatches it from me. “What’s this? A radio?”

  “No, it’s an alarm,” I lie. “It will sound if other ships are in the area, then we can adjust our course and avoid a collision.” My voice quivers and my hands shake. “Can you put it in the bracket?”

  He reaches behind me and does as I asked. “Are we ready to sail yet?”

  “Nearly. I need to set the sails first. Like I said, there’s no rushing things. Things can go wrong at sea quickly if you’re not careful.” I wind him up a bit, taking back a little power.

  Half an hour later, I can’t delay anymore, and we begin slicing through the waves, north toward Queensland. I helm Sassy, tacking back and forth and on the slowest route I can, even backward. Why hasn’t someone arrived yet? We’re not far off the coast. The EPIRB might not be working or the batteries are flat.

  The AIS sounds sharply and I jump below to check the radar. There’s a craft south of us and closing in. I wait to determine its course. It appears to be following us.

  “What was the alarm for?” Brett is behind me again, both hands possessively on my hips. The hardness of him presses into my back.

  “There’s another boat but it’s out west,” I say, fighting to keep my voice composed. “It’s not a problem for us on our current trajectory.”

  Sassy gets buffeted, and I jump on deck again and scour the ocean behind us. I take the helm and try to stay focussed.

  Brett places his hand over mine—the one on the tiller. I must keep him calm and distracted so I avoid pulling away.

  “Sit next to me.” His voice is caramel smooth.

  “I get better vision standing. It’s safer.”

  “We could do our sunset ritual in the cockpit later. You have some food on board.”

  “Yeah.” I plunder the horizon behind us and make out a silver speck. They’re catching us. I divert Sassy out of the line of the wind to cause the sails to luff.

  “Need to put in a reef,” I say. It will reduce our speed further. He doesn’t comprehend we could reach twenty knots if I was handling Sassy differently.

  But then he sees the rapidly gaining speck.

  He stands and squints at it, his hands cupped against the glaring sun. “Is that the boat you mentioned?”

  I trace the surface of the ocean and hold my breath to control my reaction. It’s gaining on us. “Guess so.”

  “Even I can work out that’s south not west.”

  “Must’ve changed course. It is allowed.”

  After I’ve put in a reef, he sits and tracks the boat as it reduces the gap between us. After a few minutes, he jumps to his feet and latches onto my shoulder. “We need to go faster. What about the motor?”

  “Okay. I have to furl the sails first, though.”

  He kicks out at the bench seat. “Can’t you make this stupid boat move any quicker?”

  I zap him with a sharp look. “It’s not a Porsche, Brett.”

  “Faster,” he demands, the cold barrel of the gun in the middle of my forehead, “or you don’t live to see how this ends.”

  Trying not to shut my eyes, I say, “It’s a police boat, Brett. They’re going to catch us with their powerfu
l motor. I sent an SOS message. They have my location. It’s over. So far, you’ve done nothing that can’t be put right. Don’t make it worse for yourself. Put down the gun.”

  He shoves me backward. I stumble onto the bench seat and he raises the gun at me again. Boomer, suddenly free, races up the side of Sassy and snarls at Brett. Brett’s clearly not capable of tying knots. But then he rushes at Boomer, pushing him overboard. I throw myself over the gunwale to reach Boomer but the distance to the water is too far and we’re already leaving him behind. I work to unclip my harness. I’m still attached to Brett. I need to jump in after Boomer with a lifebuoy ring. Brett flings me aside.

  “We have to turn around,” I shriek and leap for the helm.

  Brett grips my elbow. “We’re not turning around.”

  “You cannot force me to love you, Brett. You cannot just take me. We could sail to the ends of this Earth and I’ll still love Drew. If I never see him again for the rest of my life, I’ll still be in love with him.”

  Brett’s face contorts, this time with sorrow rather than anger.

  Behind him, an unfamiliar craft is almost on us. It cuts its engine and drifts closer.

  A megaphone screeches before a voice says, “Brett. Stop the boat.”

  I’d expected to be addressed by Search & Rescue men or the police, not by Drew. I hunt for him and find Drew standing next to Christian, his friend from Portsmouth.

  Drew lifts a megaphone to his mouth. “Brett, we can work this out. Let me aboard.” They’re just meters away.

  Two other vessels approach from behind them, one is a bright orange SAR boat. They would’ve notified Drew when I set off the beacon and was in trouble.

  Brett grabs me, his arm a clamp that crushes me to him. The gun swipes past my nose as he widens his stance to keep balanced. I use my elbows to sharply shove him, but his grasp strengthens, and he puts the barrel to my head again. “Do as I say, and you’ll be fine,” he says between gritted teeth.

  “Brett. Don’t do this,” I scream. “You could get hurt.”

  He chuckles. “It’s only Drew. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  I have one arm free and lift it, elbowing Brett in the gut. At the same moment, Drew launches himself across the meter gap, attempting to board Sassy. Brett’s face congeals with fury, and there’s the swing of the gun and a sound that rips through my brain and gashes the silence.

  Drew plunges into the ocean.

  Shae

  “No,” I scream. “No, no, no.” I scramble to the gunwale and lean over to search for Drew. He’s floating and still taking in air, but the seawater is purple with blood and his eyes roll back in his head. I fight to unclip my harness from Brett, but he grips my wrists.

  “What have you done?”

  Brett flinches when I repeatedly kick at the same spot on his shin then wallop his face. He has a monster inside him—like my father and Connor had. There’s no taming it.

  “If you’ve killed him, then you can kill me, too.”

  I punch at him again as he drags me to the other side of Sassy, trying to hug me to him.

  “He just wouldn’t take the hint. Why couldn’t he let us be? No one wants to be in a love triangle.”

  “We aren’t in a love triangle. I have always loved Drew. Only Drew. He was your best friend, like a brother to you. You told me that. Help me save him. Let me go. Please, Brett.”

  Brett’s mouth is open and contorted but he shakes his head no.

  “You really are insane if you believe you’ll get away with this.” My voice is shrill with panic. “You’re going to go to jail for the rest of your life. Every person here will testify against you.”

  His shoulders chug. “They locked me up and cut off my finger,” he shouts. “I can’t be locked up—” A sound resembling the wail of a thousand ghosts bursts from him. He climbs onto the gunwale and unclips his harness—not from me, but from Sassy. He turns to face me, then extends his arms resembling Jesus on the cross. His expression tears apart, and then he falls backward into the ocean. The harness snaps taut between us and drags me forward and over the side of the boat.

  I bellyflop into the water.

  Brett’s gaze calmly pierces mine as he lets the air out of his lungs and allows himself to sink. The harness ties me to him and I sink, too. I reach to unlatch and free myself, but his hand clutches the clip. I pull frantically at his fingers, but except for his prosthetic—which pathetically floats away—his grip is firm.

  He’s taking me under with him.

  My hair splays around me. It’s useless to fight. His weight will drag me down like an anchor, no matter how much I kick and try to swim to the surface.

  Sassy Jam’s hull slowly recedes.

  But then Brett lets me go.

  He unclips his harness from mine.

  I circle my arms to stop my descent.

  Brett keeps eye contact. I can’t stop watching him. It’s as if I’m his last connection with the living world and I’m holding his hand but with my eyes as he slips farther away, becoming smaller, blurry, into the deep, dark of the ocean.

  The cemetery is located on the edge of the cliffs near Bondi. If ghosts do exist, they have a spectacular view. I carry two bunches of flowers, their scent tickling my nose as I walk through the rows of headstones. Some are life-sized carved stone angels, others are simple tablets like crooked, gapped teeth in a row.

  The sight of the ocean makes my head rush with the recollection of Brett slowly disappearing below me. The image will haunt me forever—the moment he chose to both die and let me go. Did he do it because he truly loved me? Was there a small piece of goodness left in his heart—the part of him who used to play imaginary games in the woods with Drew; the part of Brett that Drew turned to when his mother died? I guess we’ll never know.

  My mind shifts to the memory of Drew as they hauled his limp body from the bloodied sea—another image which will haunt me forever.

  Today is the one-year anniversary of Anthony Vega’s death. I walk toward his grave. It rises erect and tall next to Drew’s mother’s headstone—their simple gray marble gravestones don’t reflect the wealth they accumulated.

  Drew is already there, having asked for a private moment with his parents. He takes the flowers from me and steps forward to place one arrangement on his mom’s, then his dad’s grave. He walks stiffly—the gunshot wound in his shoulder still gives him pain. He has a scar there, one that resembles a circular sun with sunrays showering from it. He stays kneeling for a long time, his chin dipped to his chest. I wonder if he’s thinking about Brett, too.

  As I watch Drew, my heart bucks with love. I think of what we’ve survived to reach this point. It seems as if love will always find a way.

  When he stands, he puts his good arm around me, and we trace over the graves. I shiver at the idea he almost had his name on a headstone right there, next to his dad. Boomer sniffs at the soil around the grave. A SAR guy had rescued him after the waves pushed him, still swimming strongly, closer to their boat.

  Drew combs my face, his eyes welling with tenderness. I kiss him, pressing our lips together for a long time, breathing him in, finally at peace. When the kiss ends, we contemplate the graves again, arm in arm, and I listen to the sound of the crashing waves against the rocks below us.

  “I loved Brett like he was my brother,” Drew says. “How is it he despised me so much?”

  “Love and hate are close companions. I used to both love and hate my father. Even Brett’s desperate need for his father’s love drove him to loathe his dad.”

  “As I loved my father yet could simultaneously hate him—when I was younger,” Drew concludes. “I’m glad I got to know my dad better before he died. It means the time we wasted before doesn’t matter as much.” Drew’s voice is a wistful ocean wind.

  He raises my hand and kisses the shining ring there. Our wedding is next month, and Jamison was ridiculously happy when Drew asked him to be his best man. Lucas has agreed to act as usher after we share
d a relaxed family dinner together.

  “When you got the text that Brett made me send you… about not marrying you, what did you think?”

  “This time I was certain it was Brett up to no good. Then the call from the SAR guys came in and… well, the rest is history.”

  Whatever Brett’s reason for letting my harness free, I like to believe it was because of love—for either me or Drew.

  “Love,” I say. “It’s the most complicated thing in the world. It can weaken or empower. Unite or separate. Wound us or heal us. It teaches us about life.”

  Drew kisses my temple, leaving his lips there as he whispers, “It teaches us about ourselves… and it’s the hardest lesson to learn.”

  FINAL NOTE

  I hope you enjoyed reading The Tide Series. More than anything, it would help this early-career author if you left a review for The Chilling Tide or any of the books in the series as it means I get to keep writing because more reviews mean more people will read my work.

  Praise for Becoming Sienna

  If you’d like to read more by T.M. Bashford you can read Becoming Sienna, the spin-off prequel to The Tide Series right now.

  “I thought the ending was genius!” Zoe Bentley, Avid Romance Reader

  "Bittersweet and definitely left me wanting more . . . This was a really interesting take on a stalker themed story." Allyssa O’Brien, Goodreads Reviewer and Between the Spine Blog

  “I absolutely loved the storyline . . . we see growth in Sienna, and the gradual peeling back of her story with her sister Keely was masterfully done.” Laura Hockley, Romance Beta Reader

  “Visual, colorful and emotional . . . the story is captivating right from the start . . . once I started reading, I didn't want to put it down.” Author/Illustrator, Sandra Severgnini

  “The characters are so well developed that it could almost pass as a true story. This has it all--self-doubt, determination, suspense, passion, and an unexpected twist.” Amazon reviewer