The Voice inside My Head (22 page)

But then I see it.

Its dorsal fin crests a good four feet above the water as it does a lazy arc around the boat. Every inch of it is visible in the horrifyingly clear Caribbean Sea. Roughly twice the length of our boat, it floats alongside as if it’s doing a little reconnaissance before moving in for the kill. It has to know how easily it could take us down. One well-placed bump and we’d be miles offshore, in thousands of feet of ocean, just waiting to be someone’s dinner.

As it reaches the front of the boat, it angles away, swimming more quickly but with an economy of movement, its
massive tail sweeping back and forth, barely disturbing the surface of the water. Pete, now followed by a posse of like-minded nut-jobs who, it turns out, were not trying to apprehend him after all, snorkel after it with a good deal more splashing and noise. Only when it’s led them half a mile from the boat does it dive into the crystal depths. I watch in disbelief as they swim sadly in circles, bobbing and diving, seeking one last glimpse, not even considering their own precarious situation. I notice Zach is among them, which doesn’t really surprise me. He’s one of the converted, just like my sister.

I relax on my perch and wait for the crazies to give up and return to safety. Looking at the vast watery wasteland, I try to imagine what it would be like to enjoy the rocking of a boat on a sparkling ocean under a cobalt sky. Pat spent weeks doing exactly what I’m doing now, although technically she was in the water and close to the shark instead of a sensible distance away. I try to imagine that our spirits are closer as I experience what she must have felt so many times. I’m seeing what she saw, feeling what she felt. I close my eyes for a moment, letting her spirit wash over me, which totally explains what happens next, not to mention the indisputable truth that communing with spirits is a bad idea.

I open my eyes to discover the massive killing machine has snuck up on me. Its wide gaping mouth that could effortlessly swallow a guy four times my size bursts from the water inches from my dangling feet.

“It’s back at the boat!” The cry rings out from the distant thrashing disciples, who think this wild, star-speckled creature is there for their entertainment. They race toward it, practically drowning each other in their haste, but the beast is in no hurry. It watches me a few moments longer, then arches its back, its dorsal briefly cutting the water, does a graceful flip and disappears into the depths. Its departure is effortless and final. There’s no negotiation, no last chance to
say good-bye, no way of understanding why it chose to hang out at all or why it left when it did.

“Where is it?” asks the first of the divers to reach the boat, struggling out of his flippers and handing them up to me so he can climb the ladder.

“Gone.”

“Aw, darn, did you get a good look at it?”

“No, it disappeared too quickly. I don’t think I ever really saw it at all.”

The guy gives me an odd look as he swings onto the dive platform and clambers over the back of the boat. I stay where I am and help successive divers, until Tracy shows up to relieve me. Pete takes his time leaving the water, making a show of being a gentleman, letting everyone go ahead of him.

I move to a bench, where Zach joins me. “It was so awesome,” he crows. “You should have seen it, man. It was like mega-huge and it was covered in freaking remoras all over its head, and the mouth was like …” He chatters on but I stop listening.

For the next several hours, the same scene plays out over and over. We find one. The divers explode into its world, chase and harass it, only to lose it when it’s had enough of them. I don’t try to talk to Pete. I want answers, but for now
my questions have nothing to do with the night Pat disappeared or his involvement. Even if he did something to her — and I will get to the truth of that — he can’t be anything more than the end of a story that I need to understand from the beginning.

The sun is low on the horizon when we finally head in. Reesie, solid and motionless, is sitting on the dock where we left her, waiting. She stands up and catches the rope Pete throws, tying up the boat with the easy efficiency of the island-born.

“So do you want me to call the police now?” she asks, loud enough for Pete to hear, as he jumps off the boat and reaches up for the equipment I start to off-load. Zach joins Pete on the dock and starts ferrying equipment to the Shark Center, while Dr. Jake and Tracy help the divers collect their gear and go through the well-rehearsed routine of trying to sign them up for future trips.

“What’s this about police?” asks Dr. Jake after the last of the tourists is out of earshot.

“Pete knows something about my sister’s disappearance,” I say wearily. I want answers, but I’m no longer so certain he’s the one who can give them to me.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” asserts Pete without conviction. The hours on the boat have given us all time to think. Maybe he’s tired of lying.

“He’s talking about you making a distress call the night his sister went missing,” says Reesie.

“Sorry, I can’t help you.” He turns away, his eyes on the horizon, where the sun is dropping into the sea.

“People saw you leave with her,” insists Zach.

“They know it was you who made that call,” says Reesie. We exchange glances. Like me, she’s felt the shift in him.

“I don’t know what happened,” he croaks. I realize, to my absolute amazement, that he’s crying and I almost feel sorry for him.

“It’s okay, Pete,” says Tracy earnestly. “We need to tell them the truth now.”

D
r. Jake insists we all go into the office and sit down. He sends Tracy across the road for cold drinks, so minutes later, I’m relaxing on an overstuffed sofa sipping a cold one. Zach and Reesie are flanking me on either side while I wait for my sister’s attacker to finally spill his guts. He’s taking his time, sitting where Dr. Jake has placed him in a straight-backed chair across the room. Dr. Jake has pulled up another chair for himself an equal distance between us. Tracy is hovering in the doorway. She could bring in a chair from the outer room but doesn’t.

“Tell us what happened, son,” Dr. Jake prompts.

The kindness in his voice reminds me that he and Pete have history. He hired him, trusted him, probably respected him. But he cared about my sister as well. I have to believe he’ll make sure she gets justice.

Pete exhales, takes a long drag on his cigarette, a slug of his beer, and stares at a point just beyond me. I wonder if he can feel Pat’s presence in the room like I do.

“I wanted her from the first time I saw her,” he begins.

Reesie reaches for my hand, which is already curling into a fist.

“She seemed like she might be interested at first. We flirted at work, but I could never get past first base. It was like she was always waiting for someone better to come along.”

“An egotistical, smart-ass jock not good enough for her; that’s hard to figure,” I interject.

“The night she disappeared, I thought maybe I was finally going to get my shot.”

“I thought you and Tracy were dating,” says Dr. Jake, looking confused.

Tracy’s mouth twists before she forces a good-natured smile.

“We were never serious,” she says.

“The minute Tricia met your brother, it was game over for me,” continues Pete, glancing at Reesie. “But that night, the night she disappeared, she and Jamie had a fight and she came to me for comfort. I told her he wasn’t good enough for her.”

I feel Reesie start to rise, and I’m glad I’m still holding her hand as I gently pull her back.

“I bought her a few drinks. Everything was going well. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, she wants to go back to her room.”

He stops and turns his attention to his beer, knocking back the dregs and leaning over to place the bottle on the ground. Tracy darts forward, takes his bottle and simultaneously hands him another. I wonder how many she’s got. I could use another one myself.

“What did you do next?” I ask.

“I walked her back.”

Pausing, he gulps his beer. I barely resist the urge to snatch his bottle and smash it over his head. Instead, I squeeze Reesie’s hand and feel a little calmer when she squeezes mine back.

“We went down to the dock. We were both pretty drunk. She said she wanted to be alone, but girls always say that, don’t they?”

“Sure,” I agree, “when assholes are hitting on them and they want to be left alone.”

I can see the fear in his eyes. The end is near.

For both of us.

“I tried to kiss her,” he says quickly, rushing to get it over with. “We struggled. It was an accident. She pulled away too hard and fell. She hit her head on the side of the boat.”

I suck in air, starting to hyperventilate as my mind races. This is the information I’ve been waiting so long for, but it’s not what I wanted to hear. A million questions flood my brain. How badly was she hurt? Why wasn’t she there when Dr. Dan showed up? Where is she now?

I’m vaguely aware of Reesie’s hand, wrapped around mine like a vise. She thinks she’s holding me back, but it’s an unnecessary precaution. I feel weak, picturing my sister in pain, bleeding, on the very same dock I’ve walked out on every day since I’ve been here. I’m not even sure I could stand up, much less launch an attack. How could I have been so close and not notice anything? Is her blood still there, soaked into the planks? The thought causes cold beads of sweat to pop out on my forehead. I’m frozen in anticipation of what Pete’s going to disclose next. Zach, however, is not.

He ricochets off the sofa, knocking Pete to the ground before any of us has time to react.

“I’ll kill you!” Zach screams, pummeling Pete in the head, tears streaming down his face. “How could you treat her like that?” He punctuates each word with a volley of fists. “You” pow “had” pow, pow “no right,” bam, smash, thwack. “Do you hear me, you bastard?!”

Finally, I’m spurred to action. I leap off the sofa and grab Zach from behind, pulling him off Pete. It’s not that I wouldn’t like to beat the guy myself, but I need to hear the end of the story. Zach collapses against me, panting and sobbing. Reesie joins us on the floor and puts an arm around him, rubbing his back. Eventually he quiets down and we return our attention to Pete, who’s moved to the sofa and is stretched out, groaning. Blood trickles from his nose and I can see the beginning of swelling under one eye, though he’s covering most of his face with his arm and is half-shielded by Dr. Jake, who’s perched on the edge of the sofa guarding him.

I stand up, towering over him. “What happened next?”

His voice is a hoarse croak. “I called for help.”

“Should I call Dr. Dan?” asks Tracy.

“In a minute,” says Dr. Jake. “Where was Tricia when you called for help, Pete?”

“I left her on the dock.” His voice is barely above a whisper. Even I’m starting to think Tracy should go for help, but how much help did this asshole give my sister?

“How badly was she hurt?” says Dr. Jake, voicing my thoughts.

“Bad, but she was conscious. There was a lot of blood. I left her, but I was going to go back for her. I just needed to radio for help.”

He struggles to sit up. “You have to believe me. I radioed for help. As soon as I got word Dr. Dan was on his way, I went back to sit with her but she was gone. I thought she must have headed back to her room, but when I checked, Tracy was there alone.”