Chapter Twenty-Seven
HECTOR
I carry two fish back with me, shivering nonstop. Now my thighs and shoulders ache, too. I’m definitely sick, and it’s freaking me out how fast it’s coming on.
The rain starts pouring. This storm’s far more vicious than the last. The drops pelt my face over and over. My head has that blown-up, dizzy feeling. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink today. That was stupid.
When I get to her house, I’m so thankful to reach shelter. My hands are shaking when I drop the fish on her back step. I’m too tired to clean and scale them. I need to rest first. I’m going to just sink face-first into the couch for a few hours. Days, maybe.
As soon as I touch the door, I realize something’s wrong. It’s open again. The wind is smacking it repeatedly against the jamb, chattering a warning. I smell smoke. I step inside, and my hand touches something sticky on the doorknob.
I look at my fingertips. Ugh. What is this stuff? I sniff the gluey beige goo on my fingertips and smell a yeasty scent. It’s dough. But that’s not all. I look upward to where faint wisps of dark smoke spread across the ceiling.
Something’s burning.
“Anda? Anda!” I yell, barreling down the hallway toward the main room. Stinging smoke coils up to the kitchen ceiling from the oven. Coughing, I spin the oven dial to off and open the oven door. A cloudy black plume meets my face. Shrunken, burned lumps decorate a black cookie sheet. I run to the bedrooms, but they’re empty.
Oh shit. Where is she?
“Anda!” I yell hoarsely, the words feeling like sandpaper in my throat. I tear out the door and spin around wildly, looking for her. But I don’t see her anywhere. The treetops are bending and whipping back and forth and grit blows into my face. Maybe she just wandered off? Or maybe she went back to the lake.
No.
I forget about my exhaustion and run through the trees, heading for the water. You can see the lake through her kitchen window between the trees. The closer I get to the water, the colder the wind becomes. The clouds have darkened, fast. Sickening thunder rumbles everywhere. Sheets of rain fall near and far away, looking vaguely like the sweeping folds of a woman’s skirt. I’m soaked when I reach the water’s edge.
“Anda!” I yell, but the splashing is so noisy. The water’s surface is sharp with a million points from splattering raindrops. I see a white thing floating in the water. Something small, like the top of a blond head.
Oh my God.
She’s too far out for me to wade in and reach her. Remembering how hard it was to tug her to shore in my clothes, I yank my coat off, and then kick away my pants and boots. I run into the water. The icy temperature causes my body to revolt, making me hyperventilate. I dive in and swim hard toward the last place her head was bobbing on the waves.
My limbs immediately stiffen like lead from the blazing cold water. My head is buzzing from panic and faintness. I lift my face. The white thing in the water rises just at the surface. It is her. A foot or so away, I see the tops of her hands near the surface. Her body must be deeper, like her feet are pulling her down.
You might die doing this, an inner voice says to me. It’s so calm, so filled with common sense. But I ignore it, swimming harder.
I reach for her arm and grab it savagely, pulling her to me. Once again, her skin is scorching hot. It feels good inside my chilled palm. I need to grab her body and tug her to shore, but I’m underwater. There is nothing to anchor myself so I can pull, and my face goes underwater when a wave hits me square in the head. That old familiar panic hits my heart, and I kick in a frenzy to break the surface. I cough and sputter, gasping for air, and keep going. Anda’s face is only inches away. Her white-cropped hair sways in the turbid water. Her eyes are closed. She’s dead in the water. The most beautiful dead person I’ve never seen.
Really, Hector. Am I worth it? the voice says again.
Suddenly, her eyes open.
Alive eyes, seeing eyes. They bore right through me, like acid. In a way that tells me that I’m not supposed to witness this.
I would scream, but I can’t. The Anda I know, she’s not here anymore. A brutal tidal force pulls me ruthlessly away from her arms. She disappears in the greenish-black darkness of the water as I’m swept out toward the body of the lake. I need to breathe, but I don’t know which way is up. The burning in my chest grows into a vicious, hard knot. I remember learning about rip currents in science class. But I don’t remember what to do. Fight the current? Swim perpendicular? Ride it out and let it take you?
All I know is that Anda is underwater, and I can’t help her anymore. I came to the Isle to steal my life back, and I’m losing it. But I won’t, not without a fight. So I kick and kick, trying to find the surface, trying to exit the stranglehold of water that’s pushing me down, fast, away.
When my heart almost bursts in my chest, I realize my mistake.
This time, fighting was the wrong thing to do.