by Rimmy London
The men holding my arms released me, one of the four stepping forward to replace them. It seemed irrelevant that this was the same man that had worn a look of such concern as to bring me hope. There was nothing now. And even the soft grip of his hand on my shoulder was not the slightest encouragement. He had already made his decision; I had seen it clearly on his face. It didn’t matter in the least how nice he was to me from this point on.
He nodded to the others and they led the way down a sandy path. The ocean was so near I could hear it, and at the next hill it spread out below us in all its glory, glittering in the strong morning sun. I considered tearing away from the man who held me, racing through the terrain until they would never find me again. His grip tightened, and I worked to calm the excitement on my face. It would be no use if my eyes told him everything. Our path squeezed its way along the foot of a cliff, edging closer and closer to the sea. Sand spread out before us and eventually swallowed the trail we were on. It extended twenty feet before becoming littered with rocks, building into a natural stone floor with the sea churning at its edge. The beach was impressive in its isolation, wedged between two great contrasts.
A larger group of suits appeared out of the shadows of the cliff. Speaking in Italian, the men gathered together, their conversation hushed and yet feeling climactic in its energy. My chaperone held me back a slight distance from the group, still clamped to my shoulder and offering nothing in the way of communication. Our intense gathering was granted complete isolation. The only avenue of escape would be the sea and watching the swells of water crashing against jagged rock, it seemed an impossible thought.
The moment I became aware of a distant thrumming it grew, becoming louder by the second. We squinted to the skies, where the sun had risen to early noon. The men backed up in a half circle and a helicopter lowered carefully. My bodyguard, meaning to pull me back with him, fastened his hand around my torn wrist. Before I could say a word he squeezed, pulling hard. Choking on the pain I cried out, my knees sinking into the sand at his feet. He flinched back and dropped my hand.
Blood seeped up from the ugly buildup of scabs and became a stained puddle in the sand below me. The wind from the helicopter whipped at my face and breaking through the pain I crawled forward on one elbow. But the man stood in my way, this time grabbing my forearm. Anger pulsed through me and I jerked away from his grasp, pushing against the sand with my free hand and standing to face him on shaking legs.
But again I looked into his face and found it filled with compassion. Blinking away the surprise I glared back, telling myself that his reactions were without conviction. The helicopter was now hovering just above our heads and I glanced at the ocean, knowing this would be my last chance. One leg of the chopper touched down gently before the others lowered into place. The blades still spun, pushing wind past our faces in strong gusts. The side door opened enough for one man to step out. He was talking into a microphone curved to his lips, protective shades over his eyes. Bringing one foot down a step he paused, his muscular body filling the doorframe. But before he had turned his head he was thrown backward. His body hit the side of the helicopter and he slumped down. My wide eyes locked on the man as he fell forward and his face sunk into the sand.
Chaos erupted with everyone yelling together, though their voices were barely heard. My head whiplashed back as a blow struck me from behind. I was flattened against the sand, the wind knocked from my lungs. My bodyguard leaned forward, yelling into my ear,
“Don’t move!”
I struggled to bring air into my lungs and coughed out a mouthful of sand. The scene around me was crumbling. Two men lay half-buried on the beach, one with a halo of blood staining the sand around his head. The helicopter was still mostly on the ground, its legs lifting and falling under a shower of bullets. Everyone seemed determined to keep it on the ground, their shots peppering the frame and ricocheting against the windows. The man at my side opened his coat, pulling out a heavy grey pistol secured to his waist. The sand pelted my eyes as he looked at me, but I couldn’t close them.
“Come with me!” he yelled again, pulling me from the ground before I could respond. I stumbled along beside him, ducking and holding one arm over my head. We ran in a scrambled course, crossing over our own footsteps more than once, slowly making our way to where the rocky ledge met the sand. Finally, he dove behind it, taking me with him, the rocky lip providing a small amount of protection. The sea was so close. The thought came from nowhere but I acted on it, jumping up and scrambling onto the ledge. I raced to the side absent of waves, the ocean pooling up calmly along one edge. It was only then that I saw it, a small boat skimming the waves and riding close along the cliffs. They must have called in for help, and this boat was their rescuer.
A heavy grasp caught my ankle, and I fell onto the rock, kicking and pulling against the man’s grip. I knew before I looked who I would see, and I hated this man even more for giving me hope and then taking it away so completely. He pinned my shoulders down before I could escape, yelling into my ear. “Are you crazy? You can’t swim here! You need to stay with me!” I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to feel the confusion his compassionate face brought. And then an explosion forced them open. I stared shocked at the boat I had thought to be a rescue mission, the entire front end smashed into the rocks. It continued on flipping and crunching, entire sections hurling off and shattering against the cliffs. I had no idea how many men lay killed under the wreckage.
“On second thought, let’s go,” he said. He pulled me up and we jumped together into the ocean. But under the surface, the water was like an angry thief. It churned so irregularly that it left no option of traveling any distance. It took all my strength to simply stay afloat, and I choked as water flooded my mouth. The man turned his gaze to another oncoming boat before looking at me with his compassion-filled face. “Ms. Lane, you can trust me. I am not part of this.” His head tilted to the wreckage and his eyes settled in their honesty. An exhausted smile pulled at my mouth before seawater splashed over me again. The boat curved, managing to pull alongside us by inches. I looked back at the beach, watching the helicopter lift over the cliff and the remaining men run back down the trail. The man treading water next to me took hold of the stepladder and pulled me to it. The boat never completely stopped and I struggled to pull myself up as it dragged us through the water. Climbing the ladder with trembling legs, I fell onto the wood deck. Our driver stood with a bare back and swim shorts - looking completely out of place. He didn’t turn back and only scanned the waves. Soaked feet landed on the deck behind me.
“Let’s go!”
The engine revved and the boat dipped into the sea, shooting forward. My rescuer stripped off his drenched suit to reveal a pair of swim shorts, and slowly it dawned on me - this miraculous chain of events had been planned. He crossed the boat in a crouch, kneeling down in front of me. “We’re not out of this yet,” he said quietly, all the former callousness to his voice gone. “I need you to stay down, Ms. Lane, I’m sorry for that.” The boat skipped and weaved, still speeding in a frantic race to escape. I kept my body pressed to the floor and listened as gunfire from the beach gradually quieted. Somehow I’d managed to escape death yet again. In what seemed like minutes the boat slowed and lifted, and our pace relaxed. The two men at the front of the boat had both calmed, and I assumed that meant I could move. Peeling my wet body from the wood I sat up, catching only a glimpse of the driver as he stood. A gust of wind blew wet hair across my face, the strands in tangled knots. I brought my hands up and heard a sharp intake of breath. “Max, get the kit!”
I froze - my throat feeling constricted. There was no mistaking his voice. Kneeling beside me he lifted my right arm, gently holding my fingers in one hand and my elbow in the other. My ugly cracked scabs looked more gruesome than I remembered, and I guessed that was because I hadn’t taken the time to study them. Givanni’s troubled eyes looked into my face. Finally, he asked, realizing I didn’t care to explain. “What
is this?” I answered him by crossing my wrists together, the swelled scabs very closely resembling the actual cord. His brows pressed together, his eyes jumping to mine when he realized what I was showing him. “I’m sorry, Loriel,” he choked, his face holding such intense pain that I had to stop him in his thoughts.
“Givanni…” I said. He had it all wrong. “I should be thanking you.” He shook his head, lifting me up as I stood.
“Don’t make me a hero,” he breathed, his eyes still measuring up the gashes. Staring into his face, I could hardly believe he was in front of me - that he had found me somehow. Pulling my arms from his grip I wrapped them around him, stepping my feet on top of his. I kissed his neck, feeling a tear trail down my nose.
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling like I was in some kind of unending dream.
“It’s okay. You’re okay.” His warm breath gusted in my face and he swept the tangled hair out of my eyes. A large box clunked on the floor next to us and Max walked back to the wheel. Givanni pulled out white gauze bandages and wrapped my cuts quickly. “There’s a shower below deck. Wash up, and we will worry about these cuts later, okay?” His arm cradled around my neck, pulling me against him for only a moment. “Take your time,” he whispered, “you’re safe.” Still dazed I wandered to the steps.
The shower below deck fit nicely in a back corner behind a bunk bed. A miniature picnic table and chairs with a cabin sized refrigerator stood at the opposite end. I stripped down and jumped in, holding my bandages out of the water as they stung like fire every time it touched them. Finally exiting the billows of steam I wrapped myself in a towel, dripping on the thick mat and wondering what to do next. There was absolutely no way I would be getting the same clothes on that I had been dragged around in for two days straight. I would be happy to burn them altogether.
“Oh.” I jumped at the sound of Givanni’s voice, turning just in time to see him retreating a few steps until only his legs were in view.
“We, uh, got you some clothes,” he said. There was a pause before he continued. “Do you want me to throw them to you?” Walking to the stairs, I leaned over enough to see him staring at a wall three inches from his face.
“No, you can just hand them to me,” I laughed. He glanced down. One side of his mouth rose into an embarrassed smile before he swung the bag forward, bending down so I could catch the thick-looped handle at the top. I frowned. “This bag looks expensive. Where did you get all this?” His embarrassed smile stretched out into a broad grin.
“Hopefully you don’t hate them too much.” He headed back to the deck and I frowned again at the bag, holding it up at eye level and trying to place it with a store that I might have seen. Or even heard of. Nothing came to mind, and the first thing I pulled out was a pale pink sweater. The luxurious softness could only be cashmere. I glared at it for a minute before holding it up to my face, brushing the delicate material across my skin and wondering why he would even consider buying this for me when we were on a boat. Setting it aside I went through the rest, feeling that he had been a little extravagant. There was no way I needed it all, and there was such a broad assortment. After pulling out the last pair of pants, I stared down unbelieving at a pile of stringy blacks, tans, and whites. Hooking one strap onto my finger, I lifted out a white lacy bra. It was a little strange to think that Givanni would now know exactly what I was wearing under anything else I had on. But I was happy to have more options than I did a moment ago. Selecting some shorts and a T-shirt from the casual pile I marveled at how well they fit and wandered up the steps in soft leather sandals.
The sun seemed to come from everywhere, reflecting brightly off the expanse of ocean around us. I walked forward slowly enough to let the golden rays tingle off my skin. But after scanning the horizon I at once noticed the complete absence of land. Givanni and his friend - I thought for awhile, trying to remember what Givanni had called him what felt like an eternity ago when I had stumbled all over the deck. They were talking and nodding to each other over a topical map spread across the gauges. Their heads came up, friendly smiles spreading over their faces in unison. Givanni pushed the map to his friend, standing. His bare chest had my cheeks feeling warm but he didn’t seem to notice and walked closer until I felt I should step back. “Well, I’m glad at least a few things fit right. If there’s something you hate, don’t feel like you have to wear it,” he said. I rolled my indebted eyes at him.
“No, actually you have pretty good taste. Did you pick everything out on your own?” I prodded. He glanced at his feet for a minute, his smile widening.
“I picked out everything except the items in the lingerie department. For those, I chose a very sensible saleswoman to select everything.” I nodded, feeling a little less self-conscious, but frustrated with myself too. Honestly, it was no big deal that he was in a swimsuit, standing in front of me like a magazine model. I shook my head.
“Thank you for everything. But if we’re out here on a boat, why did you get me all of that?” Givanni didn’t answer right away. He and his friend - I guessed I would have to break down and ask his name before long - exchanged worried looks. “What, are you kidnapping me or something?” I laughed. Givanni clearly did not appreciate my humor, and his friend appeared to have completely abandoned him, focusing all his attention on straightening the edges of the perfectly folded map. My cramping stomach reminded me that other things were just as important as figuring out this mystery, and I tried to encourage the answers.
“Look, I’m sorry, I guess that wasn’t the most tactful thing to say for some reason. But I don’t think you realize how I feel.” He looked up, and I could see he was taking it all wrong. I hurried on before he could apologize for something. “I am completely...” My throat tightened, stopping me. With a deep breath, I looked back and forth between both of them. “Completely indebted to you. If you hadn’t risked both your lives, I know and you know that I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. I don’t care where we’re going or how long we’ll be on this boat.”
My point had finally gotten across and Givanni started his explanation. My hunger was screaming at me simultaneously, and I was vaguely aware of phrases like ‘can’t wait any longer,’ and ‘if there was some way,’ and ‘shouldn’t be more than a week.’ It wasn’t until I hear the word Italy that I realized what he was trying to say. They were taking me to Italy with them, probably because every time he left me for more than a day I ended up in mortal peril. I looked up at him pleadingly. “But the idea of leaving you here is impossible,” he continued. “We will find a safe place for you while we’re there and will return as quickly as we can.” I nodded. That was fine, not a big deal.
“Do you have anything to eat?” I asked abruptly. With one look at my pale face, he grabbed my elbow, directing me to his chair and kneeling next to me.
“Maxium, could you get something from the cooler?” Max! That was his name. I repeated it ten times in my head, hoping it would stick. I needed to thank him properly. Choking down the large hoagie he returned with, I mumbled countless thank yous.
“Heads up,” Givanni’s arms reached out, catching the object that was tossed through the air. I couldn’t believe it.
“My bag!” I swung around, facing Maxium with wide eyes. “How did you get it?” He looked very happy with himself.
“C’mon, Ms. Lane, give me a little credit.” he laughed. My mouth dropped open in a gaping smile and I shook my head, unbelieving.
“I officially give you loads of credit, thank you. And by the way, it’s Ella.”
“Of course, Ms. Lane,” he called before disappearing into the cabin.
“What is it with you guys?” I mumbled, staring my question into Givanni. He chuckled. “Formality is a form of respect, Ella, it shouldn’t be taken as offensive.” I thought about that.
“So why do you call me Ella now?” His lips curved into a smile, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he unzipped my bag, peering inside. I felt a twinge of annoyance. What did he think he was doi
ng? Looking in my bag without permission was about as bad as flipping through my journal. It was like my own personal traveling suitcase. I wrinkled my nose. “Ahem.” Without glancing up, he flipped it to the other side and plunged one hand in. It was difficult to keep from snatching the thing away. Just tell me what you need, and I could whip it out in half a second, I thought impatiently. Finally, his hand slid from the bag, holding a small silver pistol. He let my bag fall to the floor with a clunk, but I hardly noticed. My thoughts were scattered as I tried to guess what he would say next. Before he spoke he unloaded the chamber, dropping the bullets into his pocket.
“This,” he lifted the pistol up a couple inches. “Was a complete surprise to me.” I decided to start at the beginning.
“My dad… ”
“I’m very glad you have it,” he interrupted. “Keeping something like this to yourself is always wise. But…” He walked slowly forward, shifting the gun from hand to hand. “If you’re planning on keeping it in your bag, you might as well throw it overboard.” My head tilted to the side a fraction.
“But I always have my bag with me, there’s really no other place.” I stopped, watching how his eyebrows were raised expectantly, waiting for me to catch on. “Oh…” I glanced down at my body, wondering where I might hide the pistol that was now looking larger than it used to. When I looked back up, Givanni was nodding.
“Your bag is the first thing they will take, whether they think you’re hiding something or not. There won’t be time to pull out a weapon. And if you do manage to hold onto your bag long enough to pull out the pistol, you would be shot before you could fire on anyone.” He flipped the pistol back, making me jump, and tucked it behind him before flashing both empty hands at me. I walked around him, searching for any protrusions or unevenness in the smooth material of his swimming shorts. As I compared angles, every square inch seemed to hang perfectly naturally from his hips. “How did you do that?” I finally asked. He turned around and reached one arm back, the muscles lining his back contracting impressively. Pulling it from the back of his shorts he flipped it up and aimed it out to sea.
