His voice was unnerving. Celina stood at the edge of the footbridge, a bungee cord no larger than the size of her wrist strapped to her ankles, a blindfold covering her eyes. Although she couldn’t see the river twisting below her, she could sense the coolness of the water just as she could sense the sheerness of this height.
She clenched her teeth and waited for her instructions.
“I’m not comfortable with you wearing that blindfold,” the man standing behind her said. His name was Steve Simpson and his company, Vertigo Fever, owned the footbridge they were standing on. “No one’s worn one before-not Jack, not even myself. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Celina removed the blindfold and looked at the man. Although she was nervous about jumping, a part of her even frightened, she tried to appear calm. “That may be so,” she said. “But you’ve told me time and again that this sport is safe.”
“It is safe,” Simpson said.
“Then what difference does wearing a blindfold make?”
“Probably none. But you’re a beginner and it’s a 320-foot drop. I’m not comfortable with it.”
“So, I can’t wear it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if someone with experience put the blindfold on and jumped first-like Jack. That way I can see how it goes and hopefully feel more comfortable with it.”
Celina was about to speak when Jack held up a hand. He looked at Simpson and said with a grin, “I wish I could go first, Steve. But she won’t let me.”
“Won’t let you?”
“That’s right.”
“Why not?”
“Because we tossed a coin before we left the city and it came up heads. She jumps first.”
“I don’t believe this.”
Celina crossed her arms. For a moment, her fear of jumping was replaced by impatience. She wanted this over with. “Believe it,” she said. “Now, can we get on with this? I’m sure these other people would like a chance to jump.”
Simpson looked at the group of twelve other jumpers who were waiting behind them, saw the impatience on their faces and made his decision. “Forget it,” he said to Celina. “Either you jump without the blindfold, or you don’t jump at all.”
Celina felt her face flush. This was ridiculous! What harm was there in wearing a stupid blindfold? Before she could protest, a tall man with dark hair and sharp features stepped away from the group of other jumpers and said, “I have a suggestion.”
Celina looked at the man. He was wearing a black T-shirt, white shorts and dark sunglasses. He looked familiar to her, though she hadn’t noticed him on the walk up. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Why don’t I jump first? I’m experienced, you’ll still be able to jump before your friend and I’ll wear the blindfold so Steve here can judge for himself if it’s safe.”
Celina turned to Steve. “Well?” she said. “What do you think?”
“Depends on how long he’s been jumping.”
“Two years,” Vincent Spocatti said. “At a park in Texas.”
“My partner is in a raft anchored beneath the bridge,” Simpson said to Spocatti. “If you lean forward, you can see him.”
Spocatti gripped the footbridge’s wooden handrail, leaned forward and saw bobbing in the river an orange raft that seated eight. The man sitting in it waved up to them. Although it was difficult to tell from this height, the man looked half Spocatti’s size.
“You about ready?” Simpson asked.
Spocatti nodded.
“Take a deep breath if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
Simpson had noticed this. Even experienced jumpers started to sweat a little when it came time to jump. This one would be wearing a blindfold for the first time-and yet he seemed absolutely cool.
“You sure you want to wear that blindfold?”
Spocatti glanced over at Celina, who was standing behind him with her arm around Jack. She smiled at him. He smiled back, relieved she hadn’t recognized him from the opening of The Redman International Building. He supposed the sunglasses, strapped to his head, helped.
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Then let’s do it.”
Simpson knelt, wrapped a nylon strap around Spocatti’s ankles, pulled it tight and snapped a series of buckles. While the bungee was being hooked to the strap, Spocatti glanced downriver. Parked in a discreet clearing next to one of the park’s many dirt roads, two of his men were waiting for him in a Range Rover.
Simpson stood and slapped him on the back, indicating it was time to jump. Holding onto the railing with one hand, Spocatti lowered the blindfold with the other. With the sudden darkness, his senses became acute. He could hear the river roiling beneath him, the cry of a crow flying overhead. Against his thigh, he could feel the small pocketknife he had zipped into one of his pockets.
If Celina gave him too much trouble, he would carve her a new necklace.
“I’m going to count down from five,” Simpson said. “When I’m finished, I want you to dive out as far as you can. Understand?”
Spocatti nodded.
The countdown began.
When Simpson reached zero, Spocatti pushed off the bridge without hesitation and plummeted to the river in a graceful arc. Celina moved forward with the crowd and watched. His arms outstretched, his head lifted high, Spocatti seemed to be flying-then the bungee went taut and cracked him like a whip.
He didn’t scream or yell or shout. There was no whoop of joy or exhilaration. He simply shot back toward the bridge and began to bounce. It was over in less than a minute. He was lowered to the raft.
When the bungee and blindfold were pulled back, Simpson looked at Celina. Her face was pale. She was squeezing Jack’s arm with one hand, swatting a mosquito with the other.
“I’m satisfied,” he said. “You next?”
“Is that even a question?” Celina asked. “Piece of cake.”
“Try to concentrate,” Simpson said to her. “Push everything from your mind and think only of the jump. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise you that. Soon you’ll be safe in the raft and wearing what we jumpers call the post-bungee grin.”
Although she heard little of what he said, Celina took a deep breath and nodded. Once again, she was standing at the edge of the footbridge, holding onto the rail behind her with tightly clenched hands. In the raft below, Spocatti and Simpson’s assistant were looking up. They seemed a thousand miles away.
Celina put the blindfold in place and wondered why she was doing this. Why did she always have to prove to herself and to others that she was every bit as strong, every bit as brave, every bit as smart as a man? So, I need therapy. Great.
She felt a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?” Jack asked.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“You sure you want to go through with this?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Want to have lunch with me later?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I love you,” he said.
Celina gave a start. She couldn’t have heard him right. But when he squeezed her arm and gently kissed her cheek, she knew she had. He loves me, she thought. If there’d been time, she would have told him that she loved him too. But before she could, Jack stepped aside so Simpson could strap the bungee to her ankles.
“Okay, Celina,” he said. “I’m going to count down from five. Just jump out as far as you can and the cord will do the rest. You ready?”
She nodded.
“All right, then. Here we go.”
And he began to count.
Celina’s mind whirled. With each number spoken, she felt her heart beat a little faster, her breathing become a little shallower, her hands grip the rail a little tighter. She wondered what would happen if the cord broke. She thought of the raft and the security it represented. She thought of her father, her mother and even Leana
. She thought of last night with Jack, of the words he just spoke to her. And then, at the same moment Simpson shouted “Jump!” and she leapt into the air, she realized she had to pee.
It was a nightmare.
The wind whipped through her hair and snatched the blindfold from her face. She saw trees, rocks and water racing toward her. Her stomach lurched. Her bladder went. The world blurred. And the bungee went taut.
She stopped just short of hitting the river, there was an instant when her eyes met Spocatti’s, and then she was being catapulted away from him and the attendant and the raft, toes first, toward the bridge-where she began to plummet again.
When the bouncing finally stopped and the attendant helped her into the raft, Spocatti took her by the hand and led her to one of the wooden seats, where she sat, exhausted.
“Fun, isn’t it?” he asked.
Celina was about to say it hadn’t been fun at all-it had been horrifying-when Spocatti suddenly slipped, fell hard against the side of the raft and capsized it, sending them all into the water.
“Something’s wrong,” Jack said. “They’re in the water. The raft’s upside down.”
Simpson joined him at the rail and leaned forward as far as he could. In the river below, he could see only the swiftly moving water and the anchored, upturned raft.
No bodies.
“I don’t see Celina,” Jack said. “Where is she?”
Simpson could only stare as those waiting to jump joined them at the rail.
“Where the hell is your attendant, Steve? Where’s the man who jumped first?”
“I don’t see them.”
Jack climbed quickly over the rail. “Strap the other bungee to my ankles.”
“Jack-”
“Move!”
Simpson did as he was told, moving like an automaton while his mind tried to make sense of the situation. “I don’t like this,” he said to Jack as he pulled the nylon strap tight. “It’s dangerous. There’s no one down there to release you.”
“I’ll release myself. Just get me down there.”
He looked at the strap, then at the fraying bungee cord that was attached to it and coiled beside him. “Ready?” he said to Steve.
At the same instant Simpson nodded, Jack jumped.
She was trapped beneath the raft, her legs tangled in the rope that was attached to the anchor.
Her mouth was barely above the rushing water. Her breathing was sharp with fright.
She held onto the wooden seat above her so she wouldn’t be pulled under by the current or by the weight of the anchor.
Below her, Spocatti and Simpson’s assistant, Alex Stevens, were trying to free her. With each tug on the rope that bound her legs, her hands slipped a little on the slick seat. She held on as tightly as she could, knowing that if she let go, she would have little strength to fight the anchor as it pulled her down.
There was another tug on the rope. And another. Celina closed her eyes and prayed as her hands slipped and she sank a little deeper into the river.
The water level flowed over her mouth, cutting off her breath for an instant until she remembered she could breathe through her nose. She let out a small cry of despair and her mouth filled with water. She choked on it and began to cough. She struggled against what she feared was the inevitable.
There was a sudden flurry of activity in the water. Bubbles burst to the top as Spocatti and Alex surfaced, their dark hair as slick and as shiny as seal skin. While Alex gasped for air, Spocatti swam calmly behind Celina and lifted her up so she could get a more sturdy grip on the wooden bench.
He turned to Alex. “Go to the shore and get something to cut the rope with. If we don’t do something soon, the weight of the anchor and the pressure on her legs will cut off her circulation.”
Alex shook his head. “I’m not allowed to leave. It’s against regulations.”
“Fuck regulations,” Spocatti said. “If we don’t do something soon, this woman will be in serious trouble.”
Alex glanced at Celina and saw that she was having difficulty breathing. A mixture of fear and exhaustion was stamped on her face. He looked at Spocatti. “Why don’t you swim to shore?” he said. “I’ll stay with her.”
“I can’t swim to shore,” Spocatti said. “I’ve hurt my leg.”
“It was fine a moment ago.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, pal. I twisted it when I fell. I just don’t show pain as easily as you do. Now, either move your ass and get something to help this woman, or we’ll see you in court.”
The two men stared at one another. Then Alex made his decision and dived beneath the surface, leaving Spocatti alone with Celina.
He swam in front of her. “Do you have any feeling left in your legs?”
“Some,” she said. “But they’re tingling. And they’re colder than the rest of me. What happened?”
“My guess is that while you were struggling to free yourself from the rope, the anchor shifted off something-probably a ledge-to a deeper part of the river. Until it reaches solid ground, the weight is going to continue to pull you down.”
“How far down.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked up at the rope that was secured to the raft. Although slightly frayed and swollen with water, the rope looked solid enough. “As long as this rope is attached to the raft, you aren’t in danger of sinking too far beneath the surface. Certainly no more than a foot.”
“I can drown in a foot of water,” Celina said.
“That’s true,” Spocatti said. “So if I were you, I wouldn’t let go of the bench.”
He glanced down at the water, then briefly at his watch. Alex had been gone a little over a minute. “Can you move your legs at all?” he asked.
She tried, then shook her head. “The anchor’s too heavy.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I’m going under to see if I can alleviate some of the pressure. Just hold on.”
Celina nodded and watched him dive below the surface.
She waited, her grip becoming weak on the wooden plank, her body shivering. She wondered what Jack was doing and hoped that he was all right and not thinking the worst. She wondered where Alex was and how much longer he would be.
She was lifting herself up to get a more secure grip on the bench when a tremendous pull came on her legs, straining all muscles, causing something in her right knee to give.
She gasped.
Her hands scrambled not to lose their grip on the bench and she screamed. There came another pull on her leg. And another. Celina fought each one, her entire body straining, adrenaline surging. It was the fourth and most brutal tug that cracked the wooden plank she was holding onto.
Spocatti surfaced, pocket knife in hand.
Reaching above Celina’s head, he grabbed the rope, severed it with the knife and then followed Celina as she plummeted like a rock to the river’s mucky bottom.
When the bouncing finally slowed, Jack pulled himself up, released the nylon strap with one hand while holding onto the cord with the other and dropped into the river, where he immediately kicked off his shoes so he could swim.
His head light from the fall, he treaded water, the current pulling him downstream while he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He looked around and saw that he was about ten meters from the raft. He swam as quickly as he could toward it-and saw that the raft was floating downstream.
Jack looked about him. In the distance, moving toward shore, he saw Simpson’s assistant struggling against the current.
There was no sign of Celina or the man who had jumped first.
He lifted his head from the water and shouted after Alex. “Where are they?”
Alex turned. He spotted Jack in the water, surprise crossed his face, then he glimpsed the bungee as it was being lifted to the bridge. “They’re under the raft,” he called-and only then did he notice that the raft was drifting downstream.
He stared after it, the confusion in his eyes gradually giving way t
o fear. There was no sign of Celina or the man who told him to come to shore. No sign of them at all.
At the same moment Jack disappeared beneath the surface, Alex dived.
Celina struggled as she sank.
Arms flailing, fists striking blows on Spocatti’s flesh, she struggled, the need to breathe rising, becoming paramount.
Eyes wide open in fear, she was aware of a flurry of bubbles racing past her, the river’s increasing debris as she neared bottom, and Spocatti as he fastened around her legs the rope he just severed from the raft.
The anchor struck bottom with a muffled thud. Celina looked down through the swirling murk, grabbed a handful of Spocatti’s hair and began pulling. She wanted to hurt him, stop him, kill him. She tried to dig at his eyes, but Spocatti twisted wildly to the right and his hair slipped through her weakening grasp.
Celina looked up as he kicked away.
She didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t understand why he wanted her dead.
Her chest ready to explode from lack of oxygen, she bent to release the rope. Her hands and fingers grasped and pulled and tugged.
But it was no use. Spocatti had bound her legs together too tightly. She couldn’t loosen the rope. In one terrible, outraged scream, she jerked upward and released what oxygen was left in her lungs. A furious whirlwind of bubbles hurled forth from her mouth and spun to the surface.
And then she inhaled, reflexively, filling her lungs with a horribly wet coolness.
Celina choked, sucked in more water, and her hands began clawing at her throat as every muscle, as every sense, rejected what she’d just done. I don’t want to die!
But the choking ended. Fading images turned to black, her eyes saw nothing and she started to list in the wavering current.
As Jack swam down, down toward the muffled scream, he glimpsed to his right a streak of black, a flurry of white and the rapid scissoring of legs.
For an instant, his gaze lingered on the departing figure and the maze of bubbles that spiraled in its wake. Then he continued downward, the need to breathe rising, his concentration focused and intent.
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