by C. C. Piper
“Outside?” she asked groggily.
“Yeah. Come on.”
She pushed her covers back, revealing a set of thick flannel pajamas. Thrusting her feet into some tennis shoes, still half-asleep, she allowed me to lead her along. I returned to the same place, putting a finger to my lips to keep her silent. I could tell the second she heard it because her eyes grew huge in her face and she stared out at the crashing waves.
“What is that?”
“They’re orcas, killer whales. They’re singing.”
Their songs sounded like a cross between a dolphin whistle and the longer, more warbling noises that humpback whales made. It was fascinating to listen to, spellbinding. We both squinted out toward the water, but even with the flashlight and the brightness of the moon, we were only able to catch glimpses of the orcas as they breached the surface and slapped their tails.
Still, Rachel thrust a hand over her mouth as they did this, seemingly to stifle her glee and overall excitement. I felt excited, too. I was already impressed by having the chance to see them like this in their natural habitat, but watching Rachel react to them like this made the experience even better.
“This is amazing,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Never been to an aquarium, like Sea World?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t either, but I would’ve imagined that with all the money her family had, her childhood vacations would’ve been extraordinary.
“No. Dad was going to take us…well, he was going to have the nanny take us. But Drew and I boycotted them after we’d heard some allegations about possible animal cruelty.”
I smiled at her. I didn’t currently have any pets—being at the office and working endless hours wasn’t conducive to such things—but my grandfather had always been an animal lover. He’d had quite a menagerie of stray dogs he’d taken in, feral cats he fed, and even some squirrels who were almost tame. Due to this, I’d always supported organizations like the ASPCA and local humane societies that were no-kill. Knowing that Rachel cared about animals, too, only ratcheted up my respect for her.
She turned to me, hugging my arm. “Thank you for waking me. It was totally worth it. I would’ve hated to miss this.”
We stayed while the whales drifted out further and further to sea, eventually disappearing altogether. I was sad to see them go. I’d captured some video on my phone, but while I’d recorded them singing, it’d been too dark to make the whales out. Still, I was thankful for having the experience. Once they were gone, I turned, thinking Rachel would want to go back, but she remained where she was, unmoving.
“Would you look at that?” she said, her voice tinged with awe, and I followed her gaze.
She was staring straight upwards into the night sky. The moon had been hovering at the horizon, but now it had set, emphasizing the darkness and allowing the stars to take stage. And those stars were incredible. They spanned out like diamonds sewn into velvet, shimmering above us.
I heard rather than saw Rachel shift as her shoes shuffled on the gritty basalt, and I realized that she’d laid down. I joined her but didn’t quite let my arm touch hers. The view was almost as captivating as she was.
In Chicago, the night sky was visible but the light pollution emanating from the city interfered with the view of all the details of the heavens. Now, there was nothing obstructing our view, nothing competing with the pinpricks of light overhead, and we could see it all. The constellations. The colors of certain stars. The vastness of the Milky Way.
I was so glad Rachel’s sadness seemed to have abated. She was happy again. When she adjusted her position so that the outside of her arm was pressed against the outside of mine, I went perfectly stationary, not wanting to discourage her. She did nothing else; she simply stayed there, continuing to watch the aerial magic hanging over us.
I woke slowly, blinking, and believing this must be a dream, but then I woke up more and knew that it wasn’t. My back was killing me, and I sat up, noticing Rachel beside me. A lime green line had appeared along the Pacific in the east, the sun getting ready to crest and rise. I coughed, my throat dry. I couldn’t believe we’d fallen asleep out here.
“Rachel?” I croaked out, sounding like a damn bullfrog.
She stirred, coughing just like I had. “Ow,” she said, twisting into some stretch that looked like a yoga configuration. “Guess we sort of camped out here.”
“Yeah. You sore?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Definitely. I used to sleep on the floor as a kid, and it never hurt like this,” I told her.
“You slept on the floor?” She pushed herself to her feet, and I did the same, stifling a growl.
“Yeah. Like when there are adults over and they take your bed. Over Christmas one year, we had a bunch of family staying from out of town. I remember Mom making me a palette with some blankets. I was about five.”
“I’ve never done that, though I might’ve if Mom would’ve let me join the Girl Scouts. I wanted to, but she decided it was too…”
“Dangerous?” I guessed, thinking about some of the news stories I’d heard about accidents happening with certain troops.
“No. More like, rustic. What it boiled down to was that I would get dirty, I think. She didn’t want her little girl getting dirty. Drew didn’t like that, either, and he’s a boy.”
“Weird,” I said. “I loved getting filthy. I remember literally rolling in the mud.”
She laughed. “Maybe it has something to do with Drew being gay. He always kept his clothes pristine, both then and now.”
“Maybe. Ready to go back?” I asked her.
“I’m ready for a shower.”
As we ambled back, she did a stretch for her back that made her chest stick out—a chest obviously devoid of a bra—and I forced myself to drop my gaze. I knew exactly what her breasts looked like when not hidden under pajamas, and imagining her in the shower with water cascading down over them was enough to nearly make me groan.
My body reacted predictably, a fact I tried to hide. She didn’t need to think of me as a pervert. At least not any more than she probably already did. Rachel had made it clear than she didn’t want any more interactions of a sexual nature, and I’d abided by her decision. I felt guilty for so many things in regards to her, and I didn’t need to pile on more.
Once she’d come out of the bathroom dressed, I took my turn. I was delighted to find her in the living area afterward. She’d been avoiding my company, and seeing her in our shared space gave me hope that maybe she’d allow me to spend time with her again—not to have sex, but for companionship.
Even though I was accustomed to barricading myself off from others when I worked, for some reason, I didn’t want to do that with Rachel. When there was no tension between us, either sexual or otherwise, I found her presence soothing, which I could admit as being unusual. The last person I’d felt like that around had been my mother, and since I’d been under seven back then, I couldn’t be sure of even that.
I’d provided her with some paper about a week ago, and she drew on it as I went to the kitchen to retrieve some bananas, oatmeal, and coffee for breakfast. I brought some to her as well, and she smiled up at me in thanks as she continued to sketch across the page with her left hand.
“A southpaw, huh?” I said. “Me, too.”
“You know, left-handed people are the only ones in their right minds,” she told me, her face cracking into a mischievous grin.
“They’re also creative geniuses, or at least that’s what my grandpa told me. He was one, too, of course.”
“Well, of course.” She laughed, though it sounded more like a giggle.
I studied what she was drawing, seeing what appeared to be sheet music. “You’re writing down your song, aren’t you?”
“Yes, though I’m having a little trouble with the coda section. It’s okay, though. I’ll work it out.”
“How many songs have you written?”
“
I don’t know. About ten.”
“Ten?” I said, my volume louder than I’d intended for it to be. “That’s like, a whole album, right?”
“Maybe. I don’t know that it’s good enough for all that. I just like to compose.” She acted as if it didn’t matter, as if it was just for her own entertainment, but I was willing to bet that it meant more to her than she was letting on.
Later that day, she nodded off on the overstuffed sofa, her papers spread out everywhere and her pen loose in her hand. I left her alone so she could sleep—I had been the one to interrupt her rest last night after all—but when two hours had passed and she continued to saw logs, I reached over to wake her. If I didn’t, her schedule would get screwed up.
The moment I touched her arm, I knew something was wrong. She was wearing her layers, a sweater over a knit top as well as some heavy khakis, but I could feel the heat of her even through the fabric. I touched her forehead next, shocked at how hot she was. There was no question that she was feverish, and as I tried to wake her, she babbled something incoherently.
“No, I don’t wanna go to the meeting…”
“You don’t have to go to any meeting, Rachel, but I think I better get you to bed.”
I attempted to help her to her feet, but she weaved erratically, nearly falling. Deciding that was enough of that, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to her room. Tucking her in, I gazed down at her, a little freaked out. I had no idea how high her temperature might be, but I knew I needed to bring it down.
Searching through the bathroom cabinets, I found a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol but no thermometer. I had to struggle with Rachel to get the two pills down her throat, but hopefully this would work. If it didn’t, I’d have to call my pilot and take her back to the mainland.
I thought of the flight here and tried to remember how long it’d been from the mainland to the island, but I hadn’t timed it. The Wish Maker’s jet had flown out of Chicago, so although I knew there must be a closer hospital along the California coast, I didn’t know how long it’d take to get there.
Pacing back and forth, I watched over her for the next twenty minutes, praying her fever would either go down or break altogether. She kept mumbling nonsense, tossing and turning in delirium. Though I’d been sick myself on occasion, I’d never seen someone quite this bad off before and I had no practice at being a caregiver.
My parents had died instantly, and my grandfather’s death had been relatively quick as well. In none of those cases had I had the ability to do anything about to help them. Now, I was here with Rachel alone without help, and she was so ill she was incomprehensible. Once the twenty minutes had passed, she was out again, and I checked her forehead. It still felt hot but was maybe a little cooler. It was hard to tell.
She slept for four hours after that, talking in her sleep, but not moving around as much. I heard various things.
“Drew, give me that horse. It’s mine.”
And…
“Go, Alicia, go!”
And…
“I’m sorry, professor. I thought you said allegro not adagio. I’ll slow down.”
Her words were slurred and burst out of her without rhyme or reason. When she woke up with eyes that seemed clear, I wanted to celebrate.
“How are you feeling, Rachel?”
She smacked her lips as if tasting something gross. “May I have some water?”
“Sure.” I grabbed some water so fast I spilled it bringing the cup up to her mouth. She took a few swallows, then dropped back down as if exhausted. At least I could understand her again. She still felt feverish, so I gave her two additional Tylenols, glad the worst was over. “Does anything hurt?”
“My throat, my back, my stomach,” she said, offering me a ghost of a smile. “But other than that, I’m dandy.”
I chuckled at her, so relieved I almost felt faint. She’d scared the bejesus out of me. Must’ve been our night outside; I shouldn’t have let us fall asleep out there without so much as a tent or sleeping bag.
Never again.
She drifted off to sleep again, and I left, setting the alarm on my phone to go off in four hours, so I could give her more fever and pain reliever. I felt as worn out as she looked and was out the minute my head hit my pillow.
I woke to a chime that became louder and louder. My alarm. I turned over and blinked, tapping it off. I felt totally out of it, but Rachel needed me. I padded the length of our abode and looked in on her through her open door. She seemed pretty peaceful, so I considered not disturbing her. Maybe her fever was gone. Quietly, I leaned down and placed my palm on her forehead again. Goddammit, she was hotter than ever. I hated to do it, but I had to rouse her. She needed to take more medication.
I jostled her gingerly, then not so gingerly. She didn’t respond. Not at all. Worried, I raised her into a seated position. Nothing. No response.
Jesus, was she breathing?
I put two fingers to her jugular to check her pulse. It was there. She was also still breathing but unconscious. I’d had enough. I sprinted back to my room and activated the satellite phone, dialing nine-one-one. When I didn’t hear anything, I looked at the screen.
Service temporarily unavailable. Please try your call again later.
What the fuck?
I tried it again and again until I lost count. I went back to Rachel’s room, bringing the phone with me. Nada. I raced outside to try it out there. Zilch. No difference. The phone that was supposed to work anywhere in the world had chosen one hell of a time to malfunction.
Perfect.
Shaking now, I pulled my cell from my pocket, but I hadn’t had a signal out here once. It was too far away from any towers or connections.
Nope. No bars. Should’ve known.
This was so bad. This was worse than bad.
What if Rachel died? What if my moronic plan to seek revenge on Brisbane cost his daughter her life? That had never been something I’d wanted to do, no matter how infuriated I’d been. Yes, I’d been upset, and yes, I’d wanted to get back at him, but what if my own stupid grudge killed Rachel, even accidentally?
I could never live with that. Not only would I be guilty of a fake kidnapping which would appear absolutely real in any court in America, I’d be guilty of murder. I’d be responsible for killing a woman I…
I cared about Rachel, and not just because we’d shared something so mutually pleasurable a week ago. I enjoyed her company, her laughter, her spirit. If she died, I didn’t think I could survive it. I knew I couldn’t. I had to save her, no matter what it took.
Going back to her side, I moved her upper body up and down as if doing pushups. She groaned as if in pain, her eyelids fluttering.
“Rachel, wake up, baby! I need you to wake up!”
“Drew?” she sputtered out with a cough, her face bunching up in agonized contortions.
“No, it’s Chris,” I said, only recognizing what I’d done when it was too late. But really, who cared at this point? “My name is Chris Green. I’ve been your…your guard.”
“Chris Green?” she repeated, but if she recognized my name, she didn’t say so.
“Yes. I need you to take these pills, okay? We have to get your fever down.” She lowered her head a fraction, and taking that as a nod, I stuck the pills in her mouth. She made a noise like she might spit them back out. “No, Rachel. You have to swallow, okay? Then you’ll feel better.”
She did, gagging momentarily, but managing it in the end. I’d been holding her around the shoulders so she could sit up, and now I settled her on her pillows so she could lay back. For a minute, she reclined there as if to go to sleep, but then she bolted upwards with a strength and urgency I wouldn’t have believed she had left. She opened her eyes wide, but before I could ask her what was wrong, she leaned forward and vomited all over herself and the bed.
Jesus.
Pushing the covers off, I undressed Rachel and took her into the bathroom. A memory tugged at my mind, something I’d seen
in a video somewhere. It’d been about holistic medicine and what to do for a fever. I strained to remember it, I hadn’t been paying much attention, but then I recalled something they said about cooling the patient down slowly with cool compresses.
I’d do them one better.
Holding Rachel carefully with one arm—good thing she was so slender—while using the other to flick on the faucet, I filled the clawfoot tub. It seemed to take forever, and I kept adjusting the temperature so it wouldn’t be too cold. There’d been something about throwing the patient into shock if their system cooled down too quickly.
In the meantime, I used a washcloth to clean the sick off her skin. She wasn’t delirious, but she wasn’t lucid, either, whimpering in my arms.
I’d planned to put her in the tub by herself, but she seemed so weak that I was afraid she’d drown, so laying her on the floor for just a moment, I stripped off, too. Picking her back up, I stood and settled into the tub, Rachel laying on my chest. She started to cry as soon as the water encased her; I didn’t know if the lukewarm water actually hurt or if she was just so ill she didn’t know what she was doing.
Still, her sobs caused a lump to rise into my own throat, and I had to force myself to concentrate on the matter at hand. I needed to calm her down, so I spoke to her, keeping my voice soft.
“You’re okay, baby. You’re going to be okay,” I said, taking handfuls of cool water and dowsing her neck and forehead. I didn’t know if it would help but I had to try. My horny-ass body thought I’d done this for an entirely different reason and was responding in kind, but I mercilessly ignored the fact that all that blood had flowed south. “We’re going to cool you off so your fever will break, all right? Just relax.”
After about five minutes of constant reassurance and dripping water over any part of her I thought needed it, her sobs lessened and then went away. I continued my ministrations, taking handfuls of water and dropping them over her, when she spoke.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?” She’d gone utterly still, and I had, too. Here I was lying naked with her in the bathtub. If she didn’t remember how we got here, she might flip out.
