5. Leila
5
LEILA
If World War III were to break out right next to me this second, I don’t think I’d be able to hear a sound over the pounding of my heart. If whoever’s on the other side of the door can’t hear it, they’ve got to be deaf.
I squeeze my eyes closed and brace for discovery.
Impossibly long moments crawl by, but nothing happens. No one grabs me or shouts at me to get out of the closet. Slowly, I open my eyes and can’t believe what I see. Nothing. Zip, zero, nada. Bupkis.
As quietly as I can, I let out the breath I was unconsciously holding in anticipation of being found. I swear to God, I just lost twenty years off my lifespan. I’m already so freaked out I really didn’t need that. Cautiously, I peer around the edge of the mirrored door, but the room beyond is empty. What the hell happened?
My best guess would be that I maybe bumped the door when I jerked awake. And doesn’t that make me wanna kick my own ass for scaring the bejesus out of myself like that. Climbing back into my hidey-hole, I struggle to close the door again.
I reach into my purse for my phone and see that I’ve been stuck in here for hours. I wonder what’s happening out there and if Phillip and the rest of the team are okay. But every time I consider leaving my safe haven, I damn near break out in hives.
A closer inspection of my screen reveals I still have no signal. But I’m out in the middle of the ocean, so there’s that. I can’t help but sigh as I drop the device back into my purse and consider my options.
Truth be told, I don’t have a ton of them. In fact, they’re pretty limited. Stay here and stay safe. Or leave my sanctuary and chance getting my head blown off. Yeah, I’m not in love with my choices. But guilt is eating at me, safely tucked away in here as I am. God only knows what’s going on out there and how the others are faring.
Standing in the dark straining to hear anything, I debate the merits of staying versus leaving. Finally, I decide I need to know what’s going on beyond the boundaries of this tiny cupboard. I can’t spend the rest of my days stuck in a box waiting for my fate to be decided. I have to know if Phillip and the others are okay.
As I crack the door, I hold my breath. If anyone jumps out at me now, they won’t need to shoot me. I’ll simply die of fright. Job done. You’re welcome. Chancing a quick look out, I’m thankful to find the bathroom is still empty.
All stealth-like, I creep across the room to the outer door. Kyle would laugh at my attempts to go undetected. My heart squeezes at the thought of him. Now, however, is not the time for a trip down memory lane. Sucking air into my suddenly starved lungs, I pull the door toward me. Finally, after what I swear feels to me like a lifetime, the door is open enough for me to peek into the hallway beyond. All clear.
As in, not a soul to be seen. And that’s plain weird. There hasn’t been a day on this boat that people aren’t going to or coming from somewhere, no matter the time. It’s actually pretty eerie not seeing another person.
I scrape my courage together, take a final deep breath, and slip out of the restroom. With my back to the wall, guard up, I make turtle-speed progress toward the dining room. Is it a good sign or bad that the room is now deathly silent? I can’t hear any talking, shouting, or even the normal sounds of a room full of people. Crickets.
I’m not too proud to admit it’s freaking me the hell out. My skin’s crawling with nerves at what I’m about to find.
Rounding the last corner, I come to an abrupt halt. The dining room doors have all been closed, but one door stands slightly ajar. I need to get to it without being seen.
As carefully as I can, I make my way over and have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out when I reach the doors. The room is in utter disarray. Tables and chairs have haphazardly been pushed against the walls. Some have been overturned and been left where they’ve fallen.
There’s a group of armed men standing to the side while the passengers are huddled together in a corner. Some are clinging to each other, crying quietly. Others sit silent, a look of utter terror stamped on their ashen faces. But the thing that has me biting back a horrified gasp is the sightless eyes of a man lying motionless in a pool of blood.
He’s lying in a very uncomfortable looking position, a bit like a marionette with its strings cut. Crumpled up in a haphazard heap, but since he’s dead I guess it’s irrelevant whether it’s comfortable or not. Those sightless eyes appearing to be focused on the door where I’m standing. Chills run up and down my spine, but I can’t seem to force my eyes away from him.
That is until, in a sudden flurry of motion, another man jumps up. Vaulting over those in front of him like he’s some Olympic athlete, he makes a run for the doors. He’s barely made it a few feet when an almighty crack reverberates through the room, and he falls into a crumpled heap on the floor much like the guy I’d just been staring at. Apparently, the already rather dead man wasn’t enough of a deterrent.
Clapping both hands over my mouth, I fight back the scream lodged in my throat. As I back away from the door, I can only pray I don’t make a sound and alert anyone in the room that I’m here. I round the corner out of sight of the doors and bend to remove my heels. Then I haul ass back to the ladies’ restroom like the very hounds of hell are chasing me.
I enclose myself in the closet behind the mirror once again and fight to not give in to the overwhelming urge to cry. I can feel a panic attack coming on, but knowing there are murderous monsters not too far away, I can’t give in to it.
The closet is just big enough for me to sit cross-legged, so I get as comfortable as I can. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, in on the count of four, hold for four, exhale for the same count, and hold again. Then rinse and repeat.
I can feel myself begin to calm, the fear and panic receding.
But, with clarity restored, I realize how much shit I’m in. We’ve been hijacked, and I’m all alone out here with no way to call for help. Did the bridge manage to get a distress signal out? Does anyone know we’re in trouble? Is anyone coming to save us?
Jesus, what am I going to do? I’m stuck in a three-by-three box with no idea how to save myself and those poor souls trapped in the dining room. Dropping my head against the wall behind me, I finally give in to the tears that have been threatening.
Is there any way out of this nightmare?
I want to sob and rail at God for letting this happen, but despite allowing myself this meltdown, I am hyperaware of the danger beyond my hidey-hole. Ugly crying in the dark, I’m conscious I have to be quiet, and my chest aches with the effort.
Closing my eyes, I can’t prevent my mind from wandering to thoughts of Kyle. Thoughts I’ve forbidden myself to indulge in for years, locking all memories of our time together in a mental vault. I barely survived him leaving me, and I would have lost my mind if I’d allowed myself the luxury of thinking of the man who obliterated my heart.
But now, circumstances as they are, my mind has a will of its own, conjuring up memories and mental snapshots of him and our life together. Get-togethers with our friends, date nights, long nights of loving where all I could see and feel is Kyle.
He was my hero, my champion. And in the blink of an eye, he took it all away from me. He spewed a lot of bullshit about saving me from the heartbreak of losing him, like Sheri’d lost John. But he never stopped to consider the flaw in his genius plan. It clearly didn’t occur to him that breaking things off would be a million times worse.
If I’d lost him to death, I would have had closure, and I could have moved on with my life. But living in a no man’s land of limbo, knowing he was alive and well, meant I couldn’t move on. For a solid two years I became pretty much a hermit.
I struggled to leave the house for fear of running into him on the streets somewhere. Living in the same city was torture, the possibility of spotting him out and about a very real one. And what if he moved on and I saw him out with another woman? The mere thought had left me a shredded and bleeding mess.
Thank God for Sheri. Fighting her own demons, grieving her own loss, she dragged me back to life, kicking and screaming the whole way. I guess in the end we saved each other. I gave her something to think about other than John’s death. And Sheri gave me something to think about other than the death of my hopes and dreams.
For the first time in years, I wonder if Kyle does in fact have someone else in his life now. Maybe, unlike me, he’s moved on and is sharing his life with another woman. Sharing his hopes and dreams with someone who isn’t me.
This time, the tears that scald my cheeks aren’t for the dire situation I’m currently in. They’re tears of sorrow and despair for all that I lost. In the five years since I last saw Kyle, I’ve not so much as looked at another man with anything more than a passing thought. Sheri and I can sigh over a good-looking man, but no one else has sparked any interest in me.
None at all. Not only did Kyle take my dreams of home and hearth, children and growing old together with him, but also any hope of those things with anyone else. With my mind saturated by memories of Kyle, waves of yearning threaten to take me back to the dark days, and I refuse to be sucked back into that.
In an effort to shake off my melancholy, my thoughts bizarrely turn to Phillip. I can’t quite figure out if it’s my imagination or if he’s been subtly flirting with me recently. I mean, he’s my boss. Surely, it’s all just in my head. Right? I can only pray it is, because if it isn’t, I won’t be able to stay on at StanCorp. And that would suck, because I love my job.
Well, not so much working with Edgar, but everything else. Sharp on the heels of that thought, I remember where I am. Fuck. Could I please just catch a break already? Sighing, I rest my head against the wall behind me and try to figure out what I’m going to do.
I’m in hell. There’s no other explanation for it. I’ve died and gone to hell.
I’m tired, my body aches from being in the same position for hours, barely moving, and I would kill for a bowl of my mother’s lasagna. And a strawberry milkshake. At the thought of Mom’s lasagna and a milkshake, my stomach grumbles loudly in the silence of the bathroom.
I certainly can’t have that. If anyone comes in here and my stomach chooses that moment to commune with the whales, I’m royally screwed. Since I used a clutch for dinner, I don’t have my usual snack backup with me. The only thing I can think of is drinking water. Lots of water.
Not ideal, but it’s the only option currently.
Pressing my ear up against the door, I listen for any sound beyond before pushing it open. When I hear nothing, I climb out of my hiding place and dash over to the taps to guzzle water. Nectar of the gods. I drink until I can’t anymore. Then head into a stall and take care of business since I’m already out here. Better now than later.
When I’m done, I crawl back into the cupboard. Ever hopeful, I check my cell for the millionth time, praying that there’ll be signal. But nope, still nothing. Blowing out a silent breath, I stow the cursed thing and contemplate my choices yet again. I don’t have the courage to venture out to the hallway, but I keep circling around to the thought that I can’t hide in here forever either.
Round and round my thoughts go like a dog chasing its tail. Indecision wracks me, leaving me immobile. Wait, is that a noise? I hold my breath, trying to hear if anyone is out there. When I can no longer hold it, I silently blow it out and suck in air.
Just as I convince myself it was nothing, I quit breathing altogether for the second time tonight. This time I know for sure I haven’t touched the door, yet it slowly but inexorably swings open.
Shrinking back into the corner, I attempt to make myself as small as possible. I slam my eyes shut and pray I’m not about to die. After what feels like forever, nothing happens. There’s no sound, no movement.
I open an eye a crack and am surprised to see a pair of combat boots and the bottoms of uniform pants. Both eyes pop open and trail up solid legs, slightly spread, over a trim waist, across a broad chest, and up into the face of the man towering over me.
My heart stutters.
I’m hallucinating. It’s the only explanation for what I’m seeing.
Before me, bold as brass and larger than life, is none other than Kyle Jackson, Navy SEAL extraordinaire.
Fuck my life.