. . . and took her with him over the edge.
Both of them disappeared from my view. The sound of a splash and the horrified screams of on-lookers clearly explained what had happened, despite the rapidly darkening sky.
Bloody hell!
Without thinking, I dashed across the street, heedless of the people now peering over the edge of the lane. I threw myself off the wall, sliding through the air and into the water below.
The man floated on the surface, one arm draped over the Nemo floatie, the other hand wiping water from his eyes.
Terrified, I scanned the ocean surface.
“Chiara!” I yelled.
No reply.
She was nowhere to be seen.
No!
I sank below the surface of the water. To my ghost senses, water had the same density as air, allowing me to run through it. The fading sunlight made it difficult to see. I spun in a circle, desperately trying to locate Chiara.
Something flickered in my peripheral vision. Another scar? I swung toward it.
No, not a scar. It was the flash of Chiara’s white pajamas. Her loose pant leg was tangled in fishing debris that littered the ocean here.
Chiara tugged and pulled, fighting to free herself.
Running through the water, I struggled to reach her. Her head whipped toward me, eyes terrified and panicked.
Chiara was going to drown unless I helped her.
Reaching her, I forced my hand fully into the physical realm. Agonizing pain tore through me, mind-numbing in its force.
Brutally, I ignored it.
I ripped the cloth free and grabbed Chiara’s arm with my hand, kicking toward the surface.
Mmmm. Turned out that though I could hold on to her, without my entire body in play, I didn’t have enough force to pull her upward.
In desperation, I channeled my panicked energy and pushed my entire body corporeal.
Blinding pain. Searing heat. Cold water. Crushing pressure on my lungs.
Damnation. I suddenly needed to breathe.
I wrapped my arms around Chiara, pulling her to me. Kicking forcefully, Chiara and I rose to the surface, both of us breaking free, gulping in giant breaths of air.
She clung to me, coughing and shivering, her energy clearly spent. We had been underwater for maybe only thirty seconds, but it had been enough.
Holding her against me, I swam toward shore. Dimly, I noted the German man with his Nemo floatie swimming for the boat dock down toward the village proper.
I wouldn’t make it that far.
Agony pulsed through my veins, fire lapping. Holding myself in this dimension was the cruelest torture. But to save Chiara’s life . . .
Any pain was worth the price.
One. Two. Three more strokes and we reached the rock sea wall. A series of ancient steps cut into the stone led upward to a small landing.
