I was too petrified to do even that. My synapses were too drenched with fear to even spark a connection.
Should I turn back, swim as fast as I can? No, I’m no swimmer—far from it.
This moment ranked up there with ghouls under the bed and monsters in my closet—things that seem unreal in the real world until they appear, making noises and pinching your toes. My entire body felt exposed, dangling bait under the water.
My legs! Should I keep moving them? Or drop to the bottom? Then I might come face to face with the thing. Oh dear God! It’s about to pull me under. I can feel it. Or can I? Am I imaging things or really feeling them?
At these frantic thoughts, I stopped moving, letting the water take me. I kept my eyes shut tight, not sure what else to do. There was no way Brando could get to me in time, or would be able to fight it. It would take him too.
Death wants me, I thought to myself. Brando had stopped it before with his unwavering will. It was taking advantage of the second chance.
Before I could ponder how much this was going to hurt, a solid form hit me, and we propelled through the water faster than I thought possible. It would have taken me minutes to make it back to the ladder, but we seemed to make it in seconds.
Brando lifted me above the water, thrusting me against the boat. I took the ladder like a monkey, natural instinct recognizing land ho when it saw it. Brando came up right behind me, knife in his mouth, water rushing down his solid form, checking me for wounds.
“Sh-sh-shark,” I pointed to its form, fin above the water, probably wondering what the hell out-swam it. Or at the very least, out-smarted it.
He removed the knife, slipping it back in its holster. “I know, baby,” he said, tone matter of fact. He still looked me over. “Are you hurt?”
I shrugged, making a squeaking noise when his hand roved over my behind. “D-d-did you s-s-see it?”
“I was watching it.” He was calm as can be, apart from the panic he felttowardme. He could mask his face and voice, but he couldn’t mask his feelings.
“YOU—” My voice died in my throat. The salty Pacific dehydrated me. Or perhaps it was all-consuming fear. My throat refused to work, though I gaped like a fish crying for water.
From the guiltylook on Brando’s face, I realized he had known the shark was out there and had been doing a dangerous tango with it.
Effing nuts! Absolutely nuts!
Lately, he hadn’t had any outlets to release his pent-up aggression, and I assumed he felt a dance with a shark would be an insanely good pick-me-up.
“See? I tell you, man, that monster didn’t even go near her,” Agwe said, coming with a towel. He handed it to Brando, still too wary to extend a hand to me. “Dat ting is smart, you ask me, man. She be under with it too—puttin’ a curse on it. So it wouldn’t take her lover. Youa shark slayer. No wonder you handle her, man.”
That was the last thing I heard before joining Aunt Lola on the floor of the deck.
Chapter Nineteen
Scarlett
Mystical Island stretched for over five hundred miles. Its center shone like a chunk of emerald, surrounded by waters that swished like melted sapphires and turquoise around it. The setting sun torched the sky blushing pink, turning the air rose gold. The ring of bright white beach between land and sea was softened, almost hazy, in the glow of the oncoming night.
According to the map Captain O’Malley gave me, the island consisted of eleven private beaches, all named by the Captain himself. It was an artist-drawn rendering of the isle, exaggerated by exotic names, the fauna and sea life that resided in particular areas, and the natural flora that grew wild. There was even a waterfall in the rainforest, one of the most eye-catching depictions on the page, a shimmering rainbow reflecting across the top of the water. The fold-up guide was like something found at a theme park.
Ourbure, a cute little wood and frond cabin, was located on Passion Beach.
Brando and I watched as the shore grew closer from the side deck. Wind whistled past, and coconut palms on the beach genuflected to Mother Ocean, fronds trembling. Salty-tasting air coated my skin, adding another layer to the humidity sheen. There was something about coastal air that made the shell feel softer and the heart flutter in contentment.
Glancing at Brando, I thought his heart didn’t flutter at the moment; it was more like beating in time to a war drum.
Once I had come to, and he was assured that I was going to survive,again, a suspicious look came over his face. A few times I caught him staring at Captain O’Malley and then at me. I refused to bring up what Captain had confided in me. It was neither the time nor the place. Brando teetered precariously between sanity and insanity; he was closer to the latter. Better leave that for later.
A small boat pulled up to the side ofWhy Not?A group of Mystical Island’s staff climbed aboard, coming to collect our things. We’d be on the next small boat out.
Aunt Lola couldn’t even bear to discuss the shark. She was so stressed by the sight of it that she got a terrible headache and wanted to sleep. I agreed. Time was needed to recover from the shock of it. However, since we were so close to land, I could afford to bring it up.
“You knew that shark was in the water?” I uncapped my bottled water, taking a sip.
Brando sighed. “Not when I first got in. It was curious and came sniffing around not long after.”
