A Man Overboard Page 3

  “Certainly, sir.” And he glided away.

  Jack reached his hands out across the table and took Stacey’s hands in his, looking her straight in the eye. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” She leaned forward across the table and kissed him passionately, gliding her tongue over his lips as she withdrew. “Order me something strong.”

  * * * *

  After dinner, dancing, and bowling, they were both relatively drunk and couldn’t keep from laughing as they walked to the elevator en route to the night’s top performance on the main stage. Descending, the glass walls of the elevator gave them a bird’s-eye view of the ship’s atrium area. It resembled a shopping mall with its kiosks, escalators, and fountains. There was even a grand piano being played.

  “I haven’t gotten this drunk since Joseph was conceived,” Stacey exclaimed, leaning on Jack and finding his back pocket.

  “What are you talking about?” he laughed. “You were as sober as a judge…” He cracked up at the old saying.

  “That must’ve been the other guy, then!” She hit him in the chest, laughing louder.

  The elevator reached the floor, and they stumbled out. “Which way to the stage, please?” Jack called out, feigning seriousness while crossing his arms and pointing in opposite directions.

  A woman standing behind a semi-circular counter that was actually a fish tank pointed them toward the front of the ship.

  Jack waved his thanks and then looked to Stacey, horrified. “Hey,” he whispered, “you see that?”

  “What?”

  “That lady’s standing in the fish tank.”

  “I think she’s standing behind it, babe.”

  He stood back and pondered this revelation. “Oh. Well, should we throw her a life preserver just in case?”

  “She’ll be fine! Now, go!” She shoved him in the back.

  “Okay, okay…”

  They sat at a round table in the back of the room so that they could continue frequenting the bar. It wasn’t like they needed to be in the front row throwing their undergarments at the feet of this Bob Marley cover band anyway—though had they been closer, anything would’ve be possible.

  “Another drink?” she asked him once the music started pumping and the lights started strobing.

  He nodded, and as she walked to the bar, he studied her. The dress didn’t cover her back, and the giant disco ball hanging over the stage sent the laser show that accompanied the act dancing across her bare skin. He couldn’t wait to get back to their room.

  Then the alcohol pierced a hole through his defense system, and those forbidden thoughts began leaking through one drop at a time. He thought of what life would be like without her. Of what Joseph’s life would be like without her.

  A tear slid down his face.

  No. It wouldn’t happen. They wouldn’t let it. They would beat this damn disease if it cost them every cent they would ever make. He shook the thought from his head, plugging the hole and refortifying his resolve to forget, for two weeks, that this thing called cancer even existed.

  Stacey came walking back to him like a fantasy walking through a dream, the music playing her soundtrack, the rays of light glorifying her essence. She sat in his lap. After taking a sip of whatever she’d ordered, she grabbed the back of his head and pressed her mouth against his.

  He moved his hands across her back, cherishing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips.

  5

  He practically tore her dress off once they got back to the suite, and what started in the doorway ended out on the balcony, neither one of them in their drunken state conscious of how loud they’d been.

  Jack stepped out of the shower, which he’d taken to wash some of the stupor away, and stepped into the bedroom. Lying on her side across the bed was Stacey in a black lace piece of lingerie he’d never seen before. She gave him a daring smile as he let the towel slip away. This was going to be the best two weeks ever.

  * * * *

  Exhausted, Jack collapsed onto the bed.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” Stacey responded. She didn’t seem as drunk all of a sudden. She got up from the bed and slipped out of what had somehow managed to stay on during the last half hour. “I’m going to walk down to the internet café.”

  He rolled onto his back. “Why?”

  “I want to see how Joseph is doing.”

  Jack chuckled. “Your mom probably has him halfway to Russia by now.” When she didn’t respond, he rolled to his side and found her standing there in the shadows, naked and staring at him. There was a strange expression on her face, one that he couldn’t place, but that seemed to embody a general sadness…regret, even. “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She pulled on a pair of jeans. Walking to the door, she said, “I’ll be right back.”

  “First of all, you’re topless. Second of all, why don’t you just call on your cell?” She looked down at her breasts as if examining them, or consulting them. The thought of her possibly having to lose them was an unpleasant one, and he wondered if the mutilating of her perfect beauty would affect his theology.

  She finally looked up and smiled. “That would have turned some heads.” She went for a shirt. “The phone doesn’t have a signal. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back. It’s only two decks down.”

  “Okay, but be careful. Remember that 60 Minutes episode.”

  “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be back.”

  He tried not thinking of Arnold Schwarzenegger making the statement as the door closed. Instead, he wanted to play back the night a few times. But then his mind went crazy and scenes from Arnold’s Red Heat began playing through his head—the movie in which he played a Russian cop. It’s not what he wanted to be thinking about. But then he noticed Stacey’s phone lighting up on the bedside table. That figures, he thought. Flipping the phone open, he saw a text message from a number that wasn’t in her address book—no name, profile, or prior history accompanying it. The message didn’t make any sense, though, just random numbers. Wrong number…and he slid off into a cloud of pleasant dreams.

  When he next opened his eyes, it was because of a mounting pressure building on his chest and a sensation in his groin.

  “Hey, baby,” Stacey’s voice fluttered through his drunken sleep. He forced his eyes open, and after they adjusted a little, he saw her sitting on top of him, straddling his chest. Though there were no lights on in the room, the moon was hanging full out over the ocean and shining down on their bed. Stacey’ naked body was outlined by its silver hue.

  * * * *

  This time, Jack woke up slightly annoyed. He had been in a deep sleep, enjoying a pleasant dream that he really wanted to know the outcome of. Stacey was being wilder than he’d ever known her to be, and he wondered where all the sexual energy had suddenly come from. Sure, he was glad to be away, to enjoy this forgotten aspect of their marriage…but this? Waking him up twice in one night? Was it the cancer? Was it her way of escaping the haunting thoughts of what was to come? If so, he wouldn’t complain. He opened his eyes, expecting to see her full, cancer-ridden breasts swaying over him.

  But he saw nothing.

  Turning his head to his right, he discovered that Stacey’s spot was empty. Perhaps her getting out of bed woke him? He started to lift himself to his elbows when something suddenly clasped over his mouth and pushed his head back down into the pillow.

  What the hell… Stacey had never brought anything like this to their bed before.

  He could just make out her hovering form, her hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Then he realized that she was wearing a glove, its cold, leathery feel slipping between his lips. He wondered where she could’ve gotten a glove from.

  He reached out and grabbed her shoulders.

  But they were not the shoulders of a slender woman.

  What the…

  Just as he started to struggle against the hand holding his head down, more hands materiali
zed, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the bed beside him. Then came the distinct sound of duct tape being pulled away from its roll and a piece torn off. The gloved hand came off his face just long enough for the tape to be smashed against his mouth.

  As the invisible hands lifted him off the bed, the moonlight washed over the forms surrounding him. There were three of them, all in black, with masks covering their faces.

  The balcony door slid open on its track, and he was carried, flailing like a fish in their strong hands, out into the night air.

  No.

  He felt the railing collide with his body.

  No!

  Then his feet were up off the deck, the railing beneath him.

  NO!

  And he was falling.

  STACEY!

  He was half-convinced that he was dreaming, that the Koontz novel he was reading had sunk into his subconscious and laid down some roots.

  Until he hit the water.

  The millisecond of cognition that lingered after the strike allowed a final, timeless string of thoughts to go speeding through his head. It started with Stacey, evolved to Joseph, and then ended with an uncertain fear as to what was next. He didn’t know what scared him more, his wife’s atheism that promised the eternal nothingness of non-existence, or the possibility of his own agnosticism’s endless suffering.

  Perhaps he should have considered it sooner…

  6

  His eyes snapped open, a flood of icy water filling his lungs. He needed to breathe, to cough. He looked up, saw the light of the moon reaching through the black waters above him, and started moving his arms and legs. They felt as if they were encased in concrete, the cold water and the shock of the impact immobilizing him. Slowly, with each kick of his legs being a solitary act of will, he began moving closer to the shimmering light.

  With an explosion, he broke through the choppy surface, ripped the tape from his mouth, and vomited salt water back into the liquid mass that had swallowed him. After gagging and coughing, he began to breathe again. He couldn’t believe he was alive. Though their suite wasn’t located on one of the top decks, it was still a fall that should’ve killed him.

  But that consolation quickly faded into the invisible horizon, along with the floating city and all its lights.

  No.

  Panic began swarming around his beating heart, squeezing it with a relentless embrace. This couldn’t be happening. He had to be dreaming.

  He kicked his legs, trying to keep his head above the waves that were slapping his face. Turning to look behind him, he imagined the red dot charting their progress on the television. That was hours ago. Florida would be over a hundred miles away by now.

  He started swimming after the boat, not caring how futile it was, but refusing to die without a fight—even a meaningless one.

  He started crying, the ship growing smaller and smaller, the nothingness around him pressing in. “Oh, please, God… Oh, please, God…” He repeated it over and over again, swimming naked through what would soon be his grave. He spun onto his back and stared up at the moonlit sky. And once again, nature’s majesty was there to mock all the insignificant things man held dear. Money, status, power… It was all nothing in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Nothing really mattered. Nothing but love, for it was only love that made him cry out in defiance of the moon’s static presence. It wasn’t power or all the trinkets he was about to lose that had him screaming at the top of its lungs. It was Stacey…and Joseph.

  “HELP!” he shouted. “HELP!”

  How could this be happening? It didn’t make any sense. How the hell could it all end this way? Why? “HELP ME!”

  The sound of the expanse surrounding him stretched off forever into liquid eternity, formless fingers snapping and spraying the night sky with a salty mist.

  His arms were growing tired, his muscles burning, his heart racing. The boat continued to fade away, leaving him behind.

  Oh, Jesus…

  He was in such a state of shock that the full gravity of his situation had yet to dawn on him. It was there, knocking on his soul, trying to be comprehended, but Jack refused to give in, refused to believe that this was real. It couldn’t be real. He couldn’t die like this. All alone in the middle of the ocean. He needed to see Stacey, to tell her it would be okay. He needed to hold Joseph one more time and tell him how much he loved him. No, he wasn’t ready to die! He wondered how long it would take. How long could he stay afloat? An hour? Two? What about sharks? But within seconds, his torment at not being able to properly say goodbye to his family transferred to thoughts of what was to come. The afterlife. Being faced with it so clearly now, it scared the hell out of him. What if he had been wrong? What if Grandmom was right and there was a way he could’ve ensured a happy reunion with his family one day? Was it too late?

  Suddenly, a dozen rays of light blinked into existence and began sweeping the waters around the boat, their long beams piercing the night air and spotlighting the water. Were they looking for him?

  Oh, please…please…please…

  As he watched the behemoth cut a wide arc through the dark sea, his panic began to rise once more. That he would drown just as the ship was coming into range or that a shark would grab him for a snack just as salvation extended its hand to him seemed like something fate might get a kick out of. He thought of Stacey’s dream, the alligators chewing on them…

  He stopped swimming, hoping to conserve his energy. He needed to stay afloat as long as possible. The search had begun rather quickly, so someone must have seen him fall into the water.

  Or perhaps they were looking for someone else.

  Stacey.

  And then, spitting another mouthful of saltwater from his mouth, he wondered if he actually should survive. Cancer would be a long battle, but at least there was the possibility of victory. If he was pulled from the water only to be informed that his wife had also gone overboard… Death might be easier than facing that, assuming that what came next wasn’t the fire and brimstone Father Jacob had preached about all those years ago. But eternity was a long time to be wrong about something. Besides, he didn’t know what happened to Stacey, and as heart-shattering as it would be to confront Joseph, there was no way he could abandon him to Viktoriya. He promised Joseph that he would never leave him, so he would do whatever he could to make it true. That meant ignoring the burning fire spreading in his shoulders and the cramping in his legs.

  Come on. You can do it. For Stacey. For Joseph. Oh, sweet Jesus, please…

  The lights came within range just as Jack was sure he was finished. Summoning some inner strength he didn’t know existed, he used the last of his energy to splash and scream. He was only a shadow on the dark waves, and a light swept over him half a dozen more times without the bells and whistles he’d expect to accompany a discovery. He was having trouble keeping his head above the water now, and he could feel the will to survive begin to slip away. The mysterious deep lingering below his cramping legs summoned him.

  Just as his head slipped beneath the ocean, he thought he could hear a small outboard motor whining above the wind.

  7

  Everything was a blur. Hands grabbing him, pulling him. Voices spilling down from a collage of rotating faces letting him know he was on his back. He could make out first aid equipment whenever one of the faces moved from his line of vision, and he knew he was in the ship’s infirmary. But all he could think of was Stacey.

  He forced himself to a sitting position, the room and its faces spinning.

  “Sir, what is your name?” It came as a chorus of echoes.

  “Green,” he muttered.

  One of the men spun and motioned to someone behind him, who then flew out of the room.

  “Mr. Green, are you okay? Can you tell us what happened?”

  “Stacey…” he whispered.

  “Who is Stacey, Mr. Green?”

  “Stacey…”

  “Mr. Green, how did you fall off the ship?”

&n
bsp; His eyes were locked on nothing, a spell cast by the trauma that he couldn’t escape. “They had masks on…”

  “Who had masks on?”

  “Stacey…”

  “Stacey had a mask on?” The man looked confused.

  No, you idiot. Not Stacey! Why would Stacey have a mask on?

  “Mr. Green, we need to know if you were alone. Do you remember what room you’re in?”

  At that moment, the man who had run out of the room popped his head back in. “Jack and Stacey Green. The Eden suite.”

  “Eden…” A dozen scenarios could be seen playing out behind the man’s eyes. “Mr. Green,” he said, trying to get him to focus, “did you fall from your balcony?”

  But he could only whisper, “Masks…”

  The man stood and began directing traffic. “Take care of him, let me know when he becomes lucid. You check the room. Everyone else, start searching for Mrs. Green. Get photocopies of her ID and start handing them out. Do it quietly, but do it quickly and efficiently. We’ve been through this, you know what to do.”

  The crowd in the room dispersed.

  “You’re lucky someone saw you hit the water, Mr. Green. And that they raised an alarm.”

  8

  Once Jack regained his senses, everything came back to him at once. “Stacey!” He jumped to his feet, and the infirmary staff, along with a security guard, moved to restrain him.

  “Where’s my wife?” Jack screamed, trying to push past them.

  “Mr. Green, please sit down and relax!”

  “Where’s my wife? Get the hell off me!”

  “Sir, please…”

  Jack punched him in the throat.

  More hands came at him, but he swatted them away and broke into the hallway. Hearing radios crackling behind him, he ran to the closest wall map, the YOU ARE HERE marker on the diagram letting him know how to get back to their suite. He took off sprinting down the carpeted hallway, cabin doors racing by him in blurs. When he came to the steps, he took them two at a time until he reached the appropriate deck. He didn’t know what time it was, but the fact that the ship was nearly deserted told him it was early. He flew past a row of duty-free shops and through a café before rounding the corner to the suites.