That I make it back to the house alive is a miracle. I leave the bike in the street and jump the gate, not wasting time opening it. The sight in front of me rocks me to my core. My mother is sitting on the top step of the back porch in her pajamas, rocking back and forth.

She didn’t do it. Fuck, no! She didn’t close the hatch.

I sprint like a possessed man. I don’t feel the drops battering my body or the wetness of the clothes clinging to my skin. I’m only aware of the water running in ditches toward the hole in the ground. I stumble over a tuft of grass and go down, face first. For the few remaining meters, I drag my body through the mud, in too much of a frenzy to even get up. When I reach the grid and peer down, my world comes to an end. Jane’s head is under water. Books are drifting around and over her. I can’t see her face. I can’t fucking see her face.

I dig the keys out of my pocket, my fingers shaking almost too much to unlock the grid. Throwing back the grid, I shout to my mother, “Call an ambulance.”

It’s dark down there. I bite the waterproof utility flashlight on my keychain between my teeth and jump straight down. Something sharp hits my shin, but I’m only vaguely aware of the pain and red color that tints the water. Holding my breath, I keep my eyes open in the freezing water. In the light from the torch, Jane’s face stares back at me, pale and lifeless. Her blue eyes are open, and her lips are the same shade. It’s angelic and terrifying. Gripping her face, I pinch her nose shut and part her lips with mine to blow air into her mouth. Nothing. Not even a flutter of her eyelashes. I work fast to unlock the cuffs. Her body floats up as her arms fall free. Cradling her to me, I dip her head back and blow more air through her lips while treading water. My brain takes over, fighting my heart not to fall apart. I refuse to give up. I haul her over my shoulder and drag us both up the stairs and onto wet soil. My actions are mechanic. I did a first-aid course in school. I know how to do mouth to mouth. I pump her chest with the heels of my palms and blow air into her lungs, over and over.

“Come on.”

If there’s a God, take me, but not her.

Pump, pump. Blow. Pump, pump. Blow.

Nothing.

“Come on, Jane. You’re not giving up on me. I’m not letting you go.”

Pump, pump. Blow.

A gurgle. A cough.

She gasps and chokes. A river of water tumbles from her lips.

Thank God. Thank you. Thank you.

Turning her on her side, I let her empty her stomach and clear her lungs. She’d swallowed shitloads of water. My hands are all over her. I need to be sure she’s all right. Alive. Her skin is so cold. So white. She’s convulsing and shivering. Her breath is ragged, as if she can’t get enough oxygen. Rubbing my hands over her arms, I drag her to my chest.

My tears mix with the rain that washes over her face. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt.” I mean that on so many levels. “I love you.” I kiss her icy lips, rocking her in my arms. “I love you.”

She’s covered in mud and exposed to not only the rain, but also the lightning that rips through the sky. I have to get her inside. I have to get her out of these soaked clothes and warm. A siren blares in the distance, fast gaining in volume, but I’m oblivious to anything but the woman in my arms, the woman who almost died because of me.

I stumble to my feet, keeping her limp body hugged to mine. The safety of the house is only a few meters away, but it feels too far. An ambulance stops in front of the gate. Two paramedics in raincoats pushing a stretcher open the gate and rush our way. Even as one of the men reaches for her, I take a step back. It’s an instinctive reaction. I can’t let her go.

“Sir,” the man says, holding out his arms, “we’re going to help her.”

There’s an urgency in his tone that makes me look down at her beautiful face. Her head is tilted back at a strange angle. Her eyes are closed. My princess. Ruined.

When they reach for her again, I don’t resist. Letting her go is like cutting my heart out with a nail clipper.

“Unconscious,” the one man says to the other as they lower her onto the stretcher.

“Pulse weak,” the other replies.

The first is covering her with a thermal heat blanket. “Sir, what kind of injury did she sustain?”

I can’t tear my gaze away from Jane. “Drowning.” When they both give me questioning looks, I point to the cellar. “She was stuck in there. It got flooded.”

They’re running back toward the ambulance with me jogging next to the stretcher.

“How long has she been under the water?”

“I don’t know. When I got here she was already under.”

“How long ago did you get here?”

“Ten minutes. Fifteen?” It feels like forever.

“Her name?”

“Jane Logan.”

They open the back and lift the stretcher inside.

“Oxygen. Monitor her vitals.”

“Hypothermia. Cardiogenic shock. Risk of brain damage. Sending it through to the hospital now.”

I make to climb in, but one of the men pushes me back. “Are you related?”

“No.”

“Sorry, sir. You’ll have to meet us at the emergency unit. Hospital policy.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“Pretoria West.”

“Will she be all right?”

“We’re going to do everything we can.”

The guy who pushed me adopts a sympathetic demeanor. “It’s a good idea to inform her next of kin.”

The other medic bangs his fist twice on the window that separates them from the front. “Good to go.”

The doors close, and the vehicle takes off. For a moment, I’m frozen to the spot, and then the five million implications of the situation punch me in the gut, but only one brings me to my knees.

I can still lose her. I might have still killed her.

A classmate’s brother survived a near drowning only to die twenty-four hours later of complications. I know the risks. I’m standing on my knees in the road, not sure if I’m praying, crying, or dying. Maybe all three. I hate myself so fucking much. I should’ve never touched Jane. I should’ve never given in to my sick obsession. If I’d left her alone, none of this would’ve happened. If I’d let her walk away, she wouldn’t be in the back of an ambulance, fighting for her life. I’m no good for her. I’m worse than scum. She deserves a million times better.

It takes everything I’ve got and more to drag myself to my feet. I have to call her next of kin. Francois and Abby. Dorothy. The walk back to the house is the longest I’ve made in my life.

My mother is whining and still rocking herself on the step when I climb the stairs.

“I’m sorry, Brian.”

I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “It’s not your fault. It’s all mine.”

I’m dead inside when I walk into the house. It’s over. Something died in that water today. From the deepest place in my gut, I know I can never have it back. A piece of Jane is gone to me. A piece of me is gone to myself. Our love drowned. It wasn’t strong enough to withstand the onslaught of my lies. My deceit. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe our love never stood a chance.

My chest and throat hurt as if a truck has driven over me. I feel bruised inside. The skin where the cuffs chaffed it is raw. Every muscle is stiff, as if I’d exerted tremendous physical effort.

Dorothy is the first to enter the hospital room. “Oh, Jane.” Her eyes fill with tears as she grabs my hand between hers and falls down in the chair next to the bed. “What happened to you?”

“The doctor says I’ll be fine.” My voice croaks like a frog’s. “I was lucky.”

“What happened?” she repeats.

I don’t want to talk about it. Not with her. Not with anyone. “Abby?”

“They’re on their way. Do you need something? Can I get you anything?”

“Thanks, but I’m all right. If all the tests come back normal, I can go home tomorrow.”

“Tests?”

“They ran renal function tests. The ABG levels and ECG are normal, and the chest radiography looks good. There’s no evidence of pulmonary edema.”

“Oh, my God.” She presses my hand to her lips. “I hope there’s no permanent damage.”

The worst damage can’t be detected by medical tests. It’s the kind that is both permanent and irreversible. It hurts my heart more to think about Brian than the physical pain in my body.

“When Brian called to tell me you’re in hospital, he said you were locked in a cellar that got flooded. Did he lock you in there?”

“Dorothy, please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can tell me. I know about the photos.”

“What?” I say with a gasp.

“This isn’t the best time to bring it up, but we have little time. They’d only let me see you for ten minutes. I know what Benjamin did. I confronted Brian.”

“You did what?” A flash of pain bursts through my head at the sudden outburst.

“He said he didn’t do it.”

“You believe him?”

“Don’t you?”

All evidence points to him. He gave me the answers I wanted. He did what he did.

“When I left Brian this afternoon, he was going looking for you. What happened, Jane? Please talk to me. I need to know if Brian did this to you, because if he did, he’s going down. I swear that to you.”

I sigh, feeling it in every aching muscle. “I went to look for proof that Brian secretly filmed me. Brian found me in his cellar. He wanted to talk, but Sam called with some kind of emergency. When I tried to leave, he locked me in. He wanted to force me to listen to whatever he had to say after fetching Sam, but then the rain started.”

Her mouth tightens. “I see.”

“He didn’t hurt me on purpose, at least not physically.”

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, he shouldn’t have, but we’re not going to talk about this with anyone else. Do you understand, Dorothy? I don’t want anyone to know why it happened.”

“You mean you don’t want anyone to know Brian seduced you for money, if that’s still what you believe.”

“I don’t think I can survive the humiliation.”

“Jane…” Her eyes plead with me. “I think you should give Brian a chance to explain. What he did–if what Benjamin says is indeed true–is wrong, but that man has feelings for you. True feelings. Deep ones. No one can act that well.”

“Just, stop. Please?”

“I understand you’re hurting. I know how hard you fell for him. Maybe in time, despite all his wrongs, you’ll let him finish what he wanted to say.”

“I can’t talk about it anymore. Not now.” Maybe never.

She swallows. “Benjamin is going to take the paternity test.”

The news stuns me into silence.

“I told him if he doesn’t do it,” she continues, “I’ll tell the world the truth myself. You won’t have to worry about the photos. I made him destroy each and every one, including the original paper and electronic files.”

Thank God for that. I squeeze her hand in gratitude.

A nurse enters. “Time’s up. Ms. Logan’s daughter is here.”

Dorothy pushes to her feet. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“I appreciate that.”

As Dorothy leaves, Abby flies into the room.

“Mom!” she says on a sob, running to the bed and falling over me.

Her hug is tight and beautiful. Tears of gratefulness to have been gifted more time with my precious girl build behind my eyes.

“Easy,” Francois says from the foot of the bed. “Your mother might be hurting.” He gives me a quiet smile.

“I’m fine,” I say with a laugh of relief.

Abby and I cling to each other, her tears wetting my hospital robe.

“I love you, Mom,” she sobs.

“Shh, honey.” I stroke her hair. “It’s going to be all right.”

She pulls away to look at me. “What happened?”

My eyes meet Francois’. That’s the question everyone is asking. “An accident.”

Like I told Dorothy, no one else needs to know about the photos or why Brian really came into my life. The two people who share our dirty truth–Dorothy and Benjamin–can keep secrets. I know that from experience.

“Abby’s got something to tell you,” Francois says. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

When he’s gone, Abby sits down on the edge of the bed. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“What is it, honey?”

“This is kind of embarrassing for me.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know, it’s just… I’m scared you’ll judge me.”

“I’m not going to judge you. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Abby, just say it. I won’t be angry about something you did or say if you’re genuinely sorry and making amends.”

She inhales deeply. “I…I lied about Brian.”

Enormous relief washes through me, but it doesn’t come as a surprise. Wiping away her tears, I ask gently, “Why? Why did you tell such a lie?”

“I guess I was embarrassed that he’s only seven years older than me.” She bites her lip. “I didn’t want him to be your boyfriend. Can you imagine what it would be like if you marry him and he becomes my stepdad?”

“You don’t have to worry about that, honey. I’m not going to marry him.”

“I want you to, if that’s what you want,” she says quickly. “I know you miss him. I could see it in your eyes. I was wrong and selfish, but I was just so angry at you.”

“Angry? Why on earth?”

She averts her eyes. “I was angry that Dad left you.”

“That was his choice.”

“I felt if you’d tried harder he wouldn’t have. I know you never loved him.”

“Oh, Abby. It’s not that I didn’t love him. I just loved him in a different way. If your dad is with Debbie, it’s because he found someone to love him the way he wants.”

She sniffs. “She’s cool.”

“Debbie’s good to you.”

She lifts her eyes back to mine. “When we got the news, I thought you were going to die. I thought I’d never be able to tell you, and I just felt so, so guilty.” There’s desperation in her voice. “Can you forgive me?”

“Yes.” I pull her into an embrace. “I’m glad you told the truth.” She still needs to understand the consequences of her actions. “Brian’s life could’ve been ruined for the lies. Those aren’t allegations to take lightly. Please don’t ever lie again. You can always tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I really am.”

“You’ll have to apologize to Brian. You owe him an explanation.”

“I know. Will we be okay if I do?”

“Yes. We’ll be okay. We’re good.”

“Okay,” she says against my neck.

Francois sticks his head around the doorframe. “There’s someone else here who’d like to speak to you, Jane. Time to go, Abby. We’ll check on you again tomorrow.”

Abby hugs me tight for another two seconds, squeezing the air out of me. It hurts, but I’m not going to tell her to stop.

“Love you, honey.” I kiss her cheek. To Francois I say, “Thanks for letting Abby stay with you while I’m in hospital.”

“Are you kidding? Debs and I aren’t happy about what happened to you, but we’re always happy to have Abby.”

I offer him a grateful smile.

The man who enters as they leave is wearing civilian clothes, but I know he’s a detective. He has a certain air about him and something searching in his eyes.

“Ms. Logan, I’m Detective Cowan. The doctor said I may ask you a few questions. You don’t mind if I take notes?”

I steel myself as he takes a smartphone from his pocket. The question is rhetorical. His gaze is penetrating and disturbing.

“We’ve already questioned Mr. Michaels, but I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

My heart clenches at the mention of Brian’s name.

“Can you tell me what you were doing at Mr. Michaels’ house, or more specifically, in his bunker?”

“I was waiting for him to come home.”

His gaze slips to my bandaged wrists lying on top of the sheets. “Cuffed?”

I resist the urge to slip my arms under the covers. “Yes.” There’s no point in denying. The doctor would’ve been obliged to give him a report of my injuries.

“May I ask why you were cuffed?”

“As I said, I was waiting for him to get back.”

“Cuffed?” he repeats.

I meet his gaze head-on. “Our love life isn’t vanilla, Detective Cowan.”

He taps something on his phone and looks up. “It was like a submissive kind of thing.”

“Yes.”

“To cuff and leave you?”

“Yes.”

“You gave your consent to that?”

“The objective of being cuffed is about the illusion of not giving consent, otherwise there’s no point. I gave my consent to the kind of relationship we share.”

“I see. At what time did he, eh, cuff you?”

“I think it was around four-thirty when I arrived at his place.”

“For how long were you supposed to wait?”

“Two hours, roughly.”

“What do you get out of it, waiting in what must be an agonizing position for two hours?”

“That’s a personal question.”

“I’m just trying to understand your motive for allowing this. I’m not familiar with BDSM.”

“If you want a lesson in BDSM, you should consult a professional practitioner. I don’t know anything about BDSM, either. We’ve never felt a need to label our sex life. We practice what we both enjoy in the bedroom. Is that a crime?”

“Negligence can be. If you’d died, Mr. Michaels would’ve been charged with manslaughter.” He puts away the phone. “Ms. Logan, I’ve been on Brian Michaels’ case for little over a year. It’s not the first time he’s under investigation. Did you know he was a suspect in a double homicide? If Mr. Michaels did something you should tell us about, now is the time.”

What Brian did was wrong, but I don’t want to give the detective ammunition to incriminate him. Brian’s deceit hurt like hell, but my emotional pain isn’t a reason to send him to prison. Restraining me against my will, now that infuriated me. What was Brian hoping to achieve? Why was justifying himself to me so important if money was the objective of sleeping with me all along? The only reason I can fathom is that money wasn’t his only objective. There must’ve been something real in the facade. This is what I hold onto when my heart threatens to break irreparably. This is the only piece of solace I can salvage from the wreck of emotions we created, and I cling to it for life and death. It’s what gives me the will to carry on. Not everything was wasted. Not everything was false. No, there had to be something real.

If I was vengeful, I could avenge Brian’s deceitful actions by telling the detective he held me against my will, but the godawful truth is I still love him too much. I can’t see him convicted for a crime he didn’t intend. He couldn’t have known about the rain. It doesn’t justify his actions, but he didn’t try to murder me.

The detective gives me a long look. “Mrs. Logan?”

“It was an accident.”

“We found mostly books, electronics, and…” he coughs, “…photos when we drained the bunker. Is there anything we should be looking for?”

My face grows hot up to my hairline, thinking that he saw those photos. “No.”

“Right, then. I’ll leave my number with the nurse. If you remember anything that may be helpful, give me a call.” He inclines his head, and then he’s gone.

Silence descends on the room. The only noise is a strange buzzing in my ears. Dorothy comes back later with enough snacks to last me a year, pleading with me again to give Brian a chance to explain when he comes to visit me, because surely he’ll want to see for himself how I’m recovering after what happened. I’m not sure how I feel about a visit from him, but it’s something I didn’t need to badger myself over. It’s a visit that never comes.

The hospital chapel is not a serene place. It’s a small room with a simple cross filled with people’s anguish and pain. The air smells of disinfectant, a stringent reminder of the diseases and conditions we’re here to combat with our prayers while the doctors do what they can with science. Even the diluted light that filters through a stained-glass window is infected with the desperation that clings to the space.

There are two other people kneeling in front of the cross. I’ve passed the praying stage. I’ve passed anger and self-blame. I’m at the point of bargaining with God or the devil. It doesn’t matter which. I’ll take any deal I can get. I just want Jane to be like she was when I found her. Perfect. It doesn’t matter to me if she’s perfect, broken, or damaged. I’ll love her all the same. I just don’t want to be the reason for ruining her. I don’t want to be the reason her body or mind dies. I can’t live with that.

The nurse from Jane’s floor enters the chapel. I rise from my seat. Knowing Jane wouldn’t want me near her−for good reason−I asked the nurse to inform me of any news.

Her smile is broad. “She’ll be fine. All the tests are looking good. We’re just waiting for the renal test results, and we’re monitoring her for the risk of developing pneumonia, but if all looks well she can go home tomorrow.”

I grip the bench in front of me hard. Relief makes me sway on my feet.

“You can see her if you like.”

“Thank you.”

With a nod, she’s off.

I have no right to ruin Jane more than I already have. The best I can do for her is to stay away. I’m setting her free from her invisible prison, even if it’s killing me. The agony is hell. I deserve no less. I gambled and lost. The price was her love. No, I’m not going to visit Jane, but the urge to see her is too big. If I hang around her room, maybe I can catch a glimpse when the door opens. She doesn’t need to know I’m there. I just need to reassure myself that she’s fine. With that resolution in mind, I take the stairs and exit on the second floor. As I round the corner, I almost bump into Francois. Abby is at this side.

“Brian,” he says, inclining his head in greeting.

“Francois. Abby.”

They’re probably having a restraining order issued against me as we speak. I’m about to walk a circle around them when Francois grips my arm.

“Abby just spoke to her mother. She has something to say to you, too.”

Abby looks like she’s going to bolt, but Francois puts an arm around her, grounding her to the space next to him.

“I, um…” Abby licks her lips and starts to cry. “I’m sorry I lied.”

The confession catches me off guard. “Why did you?”

“I was embarrassed and angry.”

“Angry about what?”

“My parents’ divorce. You. Everything.”

A lot of her feelings make sense to me. I can understand a teenager’s turmoil with what’s being going on in her parents’ lives. I suppose she came clean because of worry over her mother. Fresh guilt eats at me for what I did to Jane. On the upside, if Jane ever had any doubts, at least she has no more reason to distrust me because of the accusation.

“All right, Abby. Apology accepted.”

“Really? Just like that?”

What right do I have to be angry about Abby’s lie when my actions nearly killed her mother? “Just don’t let it ever happen again.”

She sniffs and averts her eyes. “Um, thanks, Brian.”

“As her punishment,” Francois says, “Abby is not only grounded for a month, but she’s also doing voluntary work at the animal shelter. I owe you an apology, too. I hope you’ll be generous enough to accept it.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I suppose you’re eager to see Jane.”

He has no idea.

They’re hardly gone when Detective Cowan exits Jane’s room. He questioned me when he arrived at the hospital just after a doctor had stitched up my shin. My mom called to say the detective had been at the house to inspect the site of the accident shortly after I’d left. He questioned her, but she said she didn’t know anything, which is true, in a kind of a way. Cowan finally has the reason he needs to lock me up. All he needs is Jane’s statement. She only has to tell one, crucial piece of truth, that I tied her up against her will. I’m not unfamiliar with the law. I’ll be facing kidnapping and assault with the intent to cause grievous bodily harm charges. I steel myself for what’s to come, not that I don’t deserve it. I’ll happily take my punishment. What’s a whole lot more devastating is knowing I’ll never see Jane again. The knowledge that I turned her trust and love into loathing is a harder punishment than any jail sentence.

Cowan stops when he sees me. “You’re one lucky bastard, Michaels.” He shakes his head as if in disgust or disapproval. “I don’t get it. Why does she cover for you? What does she see in you?”

Jane covered for me? It’s like a knife in my chest, strengthening my guilt.

His smile turns too broad for my liking. “Never mind. I don’t need her confession. The forensics team found something much more interesting in the sludge. They found a pistol. I bet when the forensics come back, the bullets we found in those murder victims are going to match.”

Shit, no. I’ve been too distraught about Jane to think clearly. I should’ve thought about the gun I’d so carefully hidden behind a cut in the upholstery of the sofa. I should’ve destroyed the damn weapon, but I was too worried I’d need it again, one day, and unlicensed firearms don’t come easy or cheap. After everything, this is what’s going to put me away. My own, damn negligence. My obsession with Jane.

He’s got me. This is checkmate.

He watches me closely, like I’m a map he can read. “Last chance, Michaels. If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time.”

I know exactly what I have to say. “I want to cut a deal.”