SEVENTEEN
Jack
Chiara dashed off the balcony and into the apartment. I followed.
“What are you doing?” I tried to piece together the last few minutes. Her odd observation about the birds and the man dying. The scar flickering open beside her.
“I’m saving that man.” She spun around, looking for her shoes.
“Pardon? If you saw that he is going to die, what makes you think you can change that?”
“Tennyson sees the future, but it’s only ever one possibility of the future. It can be changed.”
She stuffed her feet into her shoes and then threw open a cupboard. She set a Tangled bike helmet on her head and tossed an orange security vest on her shoulder.
“Chiara, I don’t think—”
“I have to try, Jack.” She paused and shot me her most serious look. “I can’t let someone die without doing something.”
“But how will he die?”
“I don’t know!” She threw a hand in the air and then used that same hand to snag a Nemo pool float. “My Sight isn’t that great, obviously. I’ll cover my bases.” She retrieved the can of mace from her purse.
She pulled open the front door, looking absolutely ridiculous as the Nemo float caught on the door frame and knocked the Tangled bike helmet over her eyes. But in intrepid Chiara form, she wiggled her way down the stairs, intent on saving the man from . . . something.
I applauded her huge heart and willingness to help a stranger, but her methods left much to be desired. As usual, I was torn between hilarity and absolute frustration.
I glanced out the window at the lane below. Despite the encroaching dusk, I could see the tourist Chiara had noted. He bent his head down to a woman—I assumed it was his wife—and listened to her talk. She was motioning toward the lights of a restaurant across the harbor.
What was Chiara going to do?
I pushed myself into the wall beside the balcony and sank downward. That was the one beauty of thick Italian stone walls. There was enough space inside them for me to move while staying hidden.
I hit street level at the same time Chiara burst around the corner from the apartment stairwell. I kept my body within the wall, just allowing my eyes to peek out. Given the rapidly darkening sky, I didn’t think anyone would notice me.
The man and his wife whirled around at the commotion Chiara made, both staring at the bizarre sight of a tiny Italian woman in pajamas sporting a bike helmet and orange vest while carrying a large Nemo pool float.
It didn’t help that Chiara definitely had her crazy eyes on, too.
“Hi.” Chiara greeted them in English with a dazzling smile. “This is going to seem odd, but I think you might be in danger. Could you wear this please?”
Chiara extended the bike helmet to the man.
The couple looked at her and then looked at each other. Wisely, they took a step back, huddling closer together.
Chiara repeated the question, moving toward them, extending the orange security vest this time.
The man shook his head and said something in German. I’m assuming it was, ‘You seem like a crazy lady, so I’m leaving now’ though it could have been ‘I don’t speak English.’
Chiara repeated the question in Italian.
The man gave her an apologetic shrug and turned to leave, tugging his wife with him.
A comedy of errors ensued.
Chiara darted in front of them, blocking their escape. She then quickly placed the bike helmet on the man’s head. Handing the Nemo float to his wife, she attempted to wrestle the tourist into the security vest.
Understandably, the poor man kept trying to hand back the bike helmet, squirming away as Chiara continued to manhandle his person.
The whole scene was completely Chiara—hilariously appalling.
Giving up on the vest, Chiara grabbed the pool float from the man’s wife and mimed swimming. By this point, the man had dropped the helmet and vest.
The couple pushed past Chiara, clearly trying to get away from this crazy Italian woman.
Given Chiara’s maniacal look, I couldn’t blame them.
The man took three steps down the lane, heading toward the central harbor. He turned back to see if Chiara was following him and stumbled over the uneven pavement. His wife reached for him but missed.
Chiara pressed forward, one hand outstretched toward the man, the other hand still clutching the Nemo floatie.
The floatie hit the man first.
The man pitched backward, falling over the low stone wall to the sea.
Frantically, his arms windmilled, struggling to find anything to hold on to. At the last second, one hand snagged the Nemo floatie.
His other hand connected with Chiara.
He locked his grip around her wrist . . .
. . . 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.
Gasping and coughing, Chiara crawled onto them. I followed behind her, boosting her up.
“S-stupid, f-f-foolish man.” Chiara chattered.
I collapsed next to her, panting.
My hold was slipping. Voices above shouted down to us.
Damn.
People would see me fade into a ghost.
I scooted back against the wall, but I wasn’t sure it would be enough.
Chiara’s face was inches from mine.
“Oh, Jack,” she breathed.
Her cold fingers grasped my wet cheek, firmly holding on to my head.
And then she kissed me.
Soft, chilled lips. Demanding mouth. Taking without asking.
It was all the motivation I needed to hold on to my corporeality for another second or two. I wrapped a hand in her wet hair and half dragged her onto my lap.
The horrific pain of holding my body in this world pounded, demanding that I let myself sink back into my shadow state.
Fire licked my arms, searing heat. Agony.
But I clung on.
Chiara was here. In my arms. Warm and willing and so very alive.
Her touch was worth the pain.
I kissed her again. Loving the give and slide of her mouth. The breath moving between us.
Little by little, I felt myself slipping. I couldn’t hold on, no matter how much I wished to.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against her lips.
“No!” She reached for me.
But I had already let go, using my last gasp of energy to melt into the rock behind me.