“New species of Deep Ocean fish rising to the surface to feed?” another scientist had proposed.
They were all great minds, rational minds, but the truth was, they didn’t know any more than she did, about what had attacked the ship. The scientists had tried to catch the animal in a net. They had some success, but the creature had freed itself before they could pull it up.
Cassandra had managed to get a small peek of their attacker in the water. If she had to guess, she would say the creature looked like a merman. But who would believe such a wild story from the woman who didn’t even know the exact procedure to draw basic surface samples? So, she’d kept the observation to herself. It was quite possible that the pain meds were starting to affect her mind anyway. Since it was nighttime, she’d already taken her dose so she could sleep through the night.
So, yes, she’d been scared of dying the instant the water took her body. But now, as she stopped struggling and let the black ocean have her, a strange acceptance came over her. She was dying. What more picturesque means than at sea? Her body drifting forever in the ocean, parts of her traveling, in time, to every port? It was poetic, in a beautifully sad way.
The inky water surrounded her, blackened by the night sky. She watched the spotlight from the boat glancing over her head as she was pulled down and saw the faint outlines of scientists fighting for life. Cassandra felt bad for them and had to look away. The cold stung, but it was better to feel than to not. Soon numbness would set in and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. The cold was nothing compared to the deep ache in her bones, the constant agony, the lethargy of pain pills.
A glimmer came from in front of her, a green shimmering light unlike anything she would have expected in the dark Abyss. Hands reached for her, human hands. At first, she waited for them to touch her, but then they did and she struggled as they grasped onto her arms. They were real, too real to be a hallucination.
No! I’m ready. Let me go! she thought. She struggled against the hands, fighting them. Let me go! Save someone else. I don’t want to wither away. I want to drift.
‘Let me help you,’ a strange voice ordered in her head. The speaker was male, a voice she didn’t know.
Was it a being from the afterlife come to fetch her? An angel?
‘Stop struggling, woman. I won’t hurt you,’ he ordered. The man who tried to hold on to her was no angel. She had little time to think about the impossibility of her hearing him in her head.
Cassandra opened her mouth wide, ready to take the water into her lungs, ready for it to be over. Let him save someone else, someone with a chance. Instead of the salty brine, warm lips pressed to hers. In her shock, she stopped struggling. No one had kissed her since she was diagnosed. Her boyfriend had left her. Oh, he’d tried to stick around, but he’d been too creeped out by it all and soon found the tiny excuse he needed to bail.
She wrapped her arms around the man’s neck, slipping her tongue past his lips. He tasted sweet, like fruit wine. Her body was starved of contact, for a feeling beyond that of sterile examination gloves and clinical exams. It has been a long time since someone just held her.
Her would-be rescuer jerked as she kissed him. Why wouldn’t he be surprised? She was dying in his arms, selfishly taking one last moment for herself.
The man tried to swim with her body. Cassandra didn’t care. She let him pull her. Her lungs were burning and soon it would be too late for her. It felt good to be held, even as the darkness threatened. She clung to the warmth. Death was close and she welcomed it, thankful that she wasn’t going to be alone when it finally came for her.
Her lungs were on fire with the need for air. A hand thrust into her hair. The mouth against hers widened, his lips slipping over hers. Then, as blackness consumed her, she smiled. She would never have to feel another thing again. The pain was over.
Commanding the Tides
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About Michelle M. Pillow
New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Michelle loves to travel and try new things, whether it's a paranormal investigation of an old Vaudeville Theatre or climbing Mayan temples in Belize. She believes life is an adventure fueled by copious amounts of coffee.
Newly relocated to the American South, Michelle is involved in various film and documentary projects with her talented director husband. She is mom to a fantastic artist. And she's managed by a dog and cat who make sure she's meeting her deadlines.
For the most part she can be found wearing pajama pants and working in her office. There may or may not be dancing. It’s all part of the creative process.
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