by Jo Sparkes
Early on her choices made him stand out. He’d explained this, but she simply agreed. “It’s what people wear when they can afford to, dear.” With his father’s constant correction of his tendency to slouch and her ever more startling wardrobe notions, he’d felt a sort of amused exasperation; his parents were so concerned with appearance they never saw the man he’d become.
Wall had never let his exasperation show until four months ago.
It was just after Padstow. He’d left the dive trip the next day, showing up at the family home before he’d even considered. His mind knew he’d done everything correct, that no one could have changed the outcome.
But some part of him ached with guilt.
His mother gently prodded him; his rebuff was gentler still. And then she’d knocked on his bedroom door, clutching her maternal answer to all of life’s pain. This particular version being red shorts, with the hundred pound price tag still attached.
He’d kissed her cheek. And booked a flight to the States that evening.
“Wall?”
His eyes jerked towards his closed cabin door, even as he realized the voice was not Melanie’s.
Jill emerged from the dark, clutching an old blanket about her shoulders. With the threadbare cover and tousled curls, she appeared all of twelve years old.
“You all right?” she frowned.
The last thing he wanted was a two a.m. conversation, but apparently his demeanor didn’t give her the hint. Of course, Jill was impervious to hints.
She stepped closer, peering into his face. “You cut your cheek.”
“I know. It’s nothing.”
“It’s the tropics,” she replied. “Jon says you’ve got to take care of cuts in the tropics.” She suddenly stooped, sliding a storage bin out from beneath his feet. Startled, he watched her unearth a first aid kit and set it on the table before him.
“Any aspirin in there?”
Plucking a bottle of Betadine and a cotton ball from the contents, she peered inside and produced a packet of Tylenol.
He tried to decipher the expiration date, and failed. The girl misinterpreted his look.
“We don’t have iodine,” she said. It took him a moment to recall Melanie’s reference to applying iodine to the men’s injuries.
The blanket restricted Jill’s arm movement, so she adjusted it - freeing her arms by tucking it sarong fashion around her. Tramping off to the galley, Jill squirted Betadine into a cup and diluted it with water.
Setting the pills aside, he clamped his lips firmly shut. Because he wanted to be alone, because he was impatient with her intrusion. And because, as he watched her bare shoulders, her delicate neck and flawless skin, desire rose within him.
Raw, physical need. For a girl whose temper reminded him of a twelve-year-old. What the hell was the matter with him?
Then Jill was before him, leaning close to dab his cheek with cotton. Instinctively he jerked away.
She huffed, gave him a look. And moved closer, allowing no room to retreat.
Despite himself, he grinned. “Thought you weren’t the touchy feely type.”
“It’s different when you need help.” Her nose wrinkled up - in a vaguely familiar quirk. “Touching for a purpose.”
She wasn’t casting aspersions on Melanie - just quaintly defending herself. A respectable answer. Not quite a twelve-year-old after all.
Logic and lust around the same woman. Lord, he must be getting old.
Swabbing at his cut while clicking her tongue - he was reminded of his mother all over again. “How did you do this?” she demanded.
“Shaving.”
She never took her eyes from his wound. “You shave at night?”
“Upon occasion.”
As he saw her take this in and ponder it, Wall had to suppress his smile. He never knew what most women were thinking - but Jill’s thoughts marched across her face one after the other.
Red surged in her cheeks when she finally remembered Melanie in his bed. Christ, he hadn’t meant to upset her.
“Jill…”
He suspected that she stooped as much to hide her embarrassment as to replace the first aid kit.
Unfortunately she had to kneel at his feet to do so - practically between his knees. With her breasts pressing against the blanket, threatening to spill over the thin cloth, she caught him completely off guard. Obviously she had no idea the temptation she offered.
When she looked up, he felt a tender amusement - familiar somehow. Deja vu he thought, and wondered where the hell that came from.
Jill stood, bare feet padding back to the galley. Seeing her toes somehow invested the moment with a startling intimacy.
“Melanie gonna dive tomorrow?” she called over her shoulder.
He had to clear his throat to speak. “Let’s leave that to her.”
Rinsing the cup, Jill shut off the tap. “But she demanded her share of the salvage. Surely she’s planning to help out.”
In the heat of his dream, Wall had forgotten that. His beautiful girlfriend had revealed a mercenary streak; and now Jon’s kid cousin displayed some very adult curves. An unsettling night all the way around.
“She’ll help,” he heard himself say.
“Jon and Mike are good people. If they do find treasure, they wouldn’t keep it all to themselves.”
Wall sighed. Curves or not, Jill was still so damned naive. “I know that. So does Melanie, really. But discussing these things now sets the expectation. There’s no surprise. No disappointment.”
The brunette’s lips trembled - she had more she wanted to say. He sought to cut her off.
“It’s time we went to bed, mermaid.” Wall stood up, deliberately stretched. She gazed up at him - her eyes suddenly reflecting some new emotion. Or it may have been the poor lighting.
With a quick nod, he retreated to the safety of his cabin.
Raising the Dead
The Caribbean sun burned mercilessly this morning.
Jill lounged on the cockpit bench, cradling a mug of coffee. They had diving to do today, treasure to find. The idea that she’d get a piece of it - even if it was just old beer bottles - made this a very interesting day.
Feet scraped on the ladder. She turned to see Melanie climb out on deck.
“Good morning,” Jill said.
The woman sat down, rubbing her temples. Somehow she looked more like the nervous blonde from dive class than the femme fatal from yesterday. “You feel all right?”
The blonde nodded, which surprised her. She was half expecting another headache to prevent her dive. “Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Really? I’m sleeping like a baby here. A ‘hardly awake when my head hits the pillow’ sort of sleep.”
She watched Melanie close her eyes, breath. Jill was just turning back to her own thoughts when the woman spoke. “Are you dreaming down here?”
“No more than usual.”
“Vivid dreams though? More vivid than back home…bright color. Strange …” Melanie trailed off.
“You mean nightmares of diving?”
The blonde shook her head. “No. I saw a man…”
“Ladies,” Mike popped through the doorway. “Let’s go diving.”
Mike hauled two plastic trashcans up the ladder and then down onto the platform.
They were heavy in the heat, and by the time he was done sweat trickled into his eyes. But that meant it glistened on his chest as well, which was a turn on for certain women.
Like the blonde.
“Trashcan Divers,” Melanie smiled, as if just realizing the term referred to stuffing gear into large plastic trash baskets. B.C.s and regulators, wetsuits and fins, all fit within and were easily carried with the large handles provided.
“Jersey term,” Jill grinned.
“Delaware term,” Mike corrected her. “Nothing good ever came out of Jersey.”
Jon, whose grandfather was born in that state, gave him a passing punch in the shoulder. “Wall, you take
the girls and explore every inch of the second reef,” he said. “There’s got to be a way in.”
“That’s worth a good fifty cents.” Mike plucked the side mount for his tanks, watching Jon’s eyes roll. “Each.”
“Would you leave off? Finding a way into that part of the wreck would help. And any time they spend exploring the outside is time we can spend on the inside. You can’t argue with that.”
Mike could easily argue with that - had argued it late last night. This was a waste of time, because two novices and a British idiot could only play at exploring. He’d need to do it all himself later.
Jon always hesitated about making decisions, especially when people’s feelings were involved. It was the single thing that drove Mike crazy.
They’d met in fifth grade, when Mike had been passed from his mom to his grandmother. Supposedly his mom had found a new job, but he’d known even then she was an alcoholic. She’d hit you with a two-by-four if she thought you touched drugs, but whiskey, she oft explained, was legal. Moving away from her to Delaware had been a godsend.
Often people told him how wholesome the Midwest was - supposedly America’s heartland. All he remembered was a filthy farmhouse with windows rattling at the shrill rants of a drunken woman.
Now Jon was earnestly instructing Wall. “The broken side - where she split in half - must have openings. Use your dive knife to poke around.”
Great, Mike thought. Three idiots chipping away at the reef. Three hours of bottom time totally wasted.
The water felt like silk this morning.
Warm, sparkling, unbelievably calm. Wall could actually see all the way to the little island nearby. Tempting him to swim over, explore the shoreline.
Instead he prodded at coral while keeping a wary eye on the novices.
He’d never like diving in threesomes, and doing it with novices just asked for trouble. Jill tended to rush ahead without checking with them; Melanie lagged behind. Neither thought to watch him, let alone each other.
They’d settled in the gap area between the two reefs, obedient to Jon’s suggestion. The coral grew thick, however, showing no sign of an opening. Which didn’t make sense if this was truly a ship broken in half.
Tinged in gray this morning, the reef felt less inviting. He prodded a few holes expecting lobsters or other sea life, but found nothing.
No living creatures at all.
Out of the corner of his eye - Wall floated in a spot where he could keep both women in peripheral view - he saw Jill paddle a few feet along without so much as a signal. The girl had tried to signal Melanie earlier, but the blonde was too nervous to see her. Consequently Jill didn’t bother now.
Extending his flipper, he tried to nudge her. She was just out of reach.
A sharp tapping filled his ears. A signal from Jon or Mike.
Jill looked around, puzzled; Melanie seemed scared.
Wall floated higher, seeking a vantage point, but all he saw was barren reef. While the tapping was clear, the noise hinted at no direction. Sound traveled faster underwater, and human ears could easily be confused.
Jill swam up beside him; Melanie remained. They had to drop to get her attention before checking out the signal.
Swimming the length of one reef, they saw no sign of the men. They turned, swam in the other direction.
At the very end Wall spied movement, and led the others down toward the sea floor near the start of the coral. With a sweeping check of the two novices, he looked up.
It was an odd shape - more human than fish. Tilted oddly, narrow end at the sprit, swelling in the middle, tapering again where it attached to the point the sand and wreck touched. Unmoving.
Wall’s belly clenched as if a fist grabbed his middle.
He jumped when Jill swam past, losing sight of the thing for an instant. When he looked back, he saw Mike and Jon plying crowbars to coral.
The apparition was gone.
Jill frowned. The entrance hole had shrunk.
The two remaining anemones had moved down, blocking the narrow entrance. They were animals, she recalled. They could travel - but slowly. And shouldn’t they have moved away?
Mike was digging a crowbar beneath one, prying. For an instant the giant creature quivered, tentacles waving in protest. Larger, more vibrant than its companion, the anemone was the reigning king of the reef.
And Mike was determined to dethrone it.
Jill found her fists clenching - she was rooting for the anemone. But, inevitably, the giant lost. The disc of tentacles popped free and floated away in the current.
And somehow the reef ceased to be. The last anemone fell away, as if it couldn’t go on alone, and the shape beneath was sleek and smooth and symmetrical.
A ship’s bow, complete with a severed spar jutting out to point the way. A broken bowsprit.
Jill swam past Wall - strangely frozen in place - to grab the rough coral edge near Mike as he shone his light into the now larger opening. Revealing a flattened, level floor beneath the silt.
It really is a ship.
A second beam flashed - Jon was already inside, exploring a far corner. Mike bumped her, grinning into her mask. Jill couldn’t see the grin of course, but well knew that crinkling at the corner of his eyes.
Then he shot over the lip through the hole.
For a moment, nothing. Wall and Melanie joined her, one on either side. When the Brit’s fingers formed the ‘okay’ sign, she rolled her eyes with her answering signal.
And then two dive lights flashed the interior. She caught a glimpse of flipper, a bare leg - and a knee-high bulge. For an instant she ducked, half-expecting another manta ray. But rather than fly, the lump haltingly slid a little closer, and stopped.
Mike was pushing it, she realized.
A beam shifted - revealing the lump’s metal edges, boxy structure. Padlock.
Dear God - it was straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean. They’d actually found a treasure chest.
Melanie gurgled - at least Jill thought she did. Glancing at the woman, she saw a weird flickering shadow surrounding them both.
The manta ray swooped past, circled. And glided straight at them.
As it drew near its wings stretched wide, hovering like a pterodactyl pouncing on its prey. Directly behind Wall’s back.
When Wall gave her a look, she jerked her head at it. The Brit turned and froze.
Jill tried to recall anything about rays. She knew there were various types; she knew a stingray had killed someone famous. Maybe this wreck was its lair, and it disliked their intrusion.
It didn’t look as if it wanted to eat them.
Bubbles erupted beside her; Jill guessed Melanie had just seen the creature.
Wall floated toward it as if to defend them. Jill doubted they needed defense, but the gesture impressed her.
Then his gloved hand reached out - he touched the thing. The dark creature turned puppy dog before her eyes, enjoying the attention. Actually pushing its head into Wall’s palm.
The ray moved nearer to Melanie - as if it wanted her to pet it as well. The blonde jerked back fearfully. The thing seemed annoyed.
Jill was reaching out when the manta vanished in a whirl of bubbles.
In the same instant Melanie clutched her regulator, her over-weighted body dropping as soon as she let go of the coral. Wall swooped down to snatch her console.
Oh Lord. She’s out of air.
Checking her own console, Jill still had half a tank. So she fished around for her spare regulator, sank to the bottom, and offered it.
Flailing wildly, the panicked woman didn’t see her. Jill stepped closer.
Wall’s foot suddenly pressed her stomach, shoving her back. Ripping Melanie’s mouthpiece free, he thrust his own spare between her teeth.
Her flailing slowed as she sucked deep.
And then erupted in frantic thrashing - clawing Wall’s own mouth piece off his face, losing it in her frenzy.
The Brit retrieved it, firmly
shoving it in Melanie’s mouth. She clutched the piece with both hands, calming as oxygen filled her lungs.
The man then snagged his octopus rig and tried it. Jill could tell from his reaction there was no air.
As she floundered around for her spare - she’d lost it when he pushed her back - Wall hooked the blonde’s B.C. to his, and looking at Jill, jerked his thumb upwards. She’d barely nodded when he rose up, taking Melanie topside.
Astonished at his own lack of air, Jill followed.
On the way up he snagged Melanie’s useless regulator floating between them, and set it in his mouth. Apparently this time oxygen flowed.
They burst through the surface; Jill ripped out her regulator. “Geez! You guys okay?”
She watched him spin Melanie around, stroking her face. The woman still clutched his regulator as if her life depended on it.
“Melanie.” He shook her slightly, then caressed her cheek. “You’re safe, honey.”
Jill swam closer. “Melanie?”
The green eyes blinked, narrowed. A spark of fury flared within them, so startling in its intensity that Jill physically recoiled.
“Let’s get you out of the water,” Wall ushered them towards the Sadicor.
Melanie huddled miserably on the dive platform.
Wall had removed her gear, peeled the wetsuit from her quaking limbs. He’d also tried to get her inside. Shock, he said, offering hot tea and a ‘lie down’.
She wanted nothing more than to be alone.
Truth was, Melanie didn’t feel fear now. She felt stupid, exposed for a fool. She felt furious at herself, at her reaction. Furious that it had to be her to run out of air.
All this time Jill thought herself better than everyone else, and it turned out she was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that the guys liked that - Mike, Jon. Even Wall.
It wasn’t fair she looked such a fool when she could have died.
Voices drifted through the sailboat’s open windows.
“Why did you stop me?” Jill’s tone held no sympathy whatsoever. “I had air all ready for her!”
“She was panicking, Jill.”
“Well if I’d given her air, she’d have been fine.”
