Chapter 11 Rachel
Rachel
The initial shock of the water was terrible, a frigid ice bath that immediately permeated through every cell in my body. Now, after at least an hour in the water, I had gone almost numb from the cold.
It was too deep for me to touch, but I still tested it, sinking down, and my feet eventually touched the bottom. The floor was slick, but I could push off and bob back to the top.
The water stank. It smelled like a wet dog, and there were clumps of algae and other slimy things. When I first hit the water, some got into my mouth, and I tried to spit it out. But my mouth was tingling, and all I could think about was the bacteria that must be spreading through my body.
But the cold was the biggest problem. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and my clothes were heavy, dragging me down.
I untied the jacket, and I worried over if I took the sweatshirt off, I’d be even more cold, and couldn’t decide whether the thick fabric was making the chills worse or helping to stave off hypothermia.
Every time I stopped swimming, when I floated, when I attempted to relax, my body trembled.
The sun, which had filled the chamber halfway down, had faded, and I could see a few stars through the cover of overhead trees.
It hit me, with a certainty that I’d never felt in my life, that this was how I was going to die.
I was going to swim until my limbs gave out or my heart stopped beating because I’ll go into some kind of frigid shock. I was going to freeze to death, all because I was desperate for my whore husband’s attention.
Stupidity, really. That’s what I was dying from. Pathetic stupidity.
“Rachel?”
Jake’s voice bounced down the well and echoed at the bottom. I inhaled sharply in shock. The coin must have arrived, or he was smart enough to have figured it out another way. “Jake?”
“Are you down there?”
A dumb question, but I wasn’t going to criticize it at this point.
“Yes. It’s really cold down here. I need you to get a rope and call an ambulance.
” In fifteen minutes, I could be inside the house.
He could turn on the giant gas fireplace.
I could drink some water. Better yet, forget the fireplace.
I’d turn on the steam shower and sauna, and I could wash off and then bake myself back to a reasonable temperature.
“So, uh. You can’t get out?”
I bobbed slightly in the water as I treaded. “No, Jake,” I snapped. And in case my voice didn’t carry all the way up, I tilted back my head and yelled, “Get a Rope and Call 911.”
There was movement from overhead, and I clamped my jaw shut against the chattering, then breathed in and out quickly, trying to warm myself up.
I thought of the towel warmer in our bathroom.
One of the giant, thick Egyptian cotton ones and how when they were fresh out of the warmer, it felt like sinking into a hug that covered every single part of your body.
More movement overhead, and then Jake’s shadow was blocking the opening. “I’m gonna make a wish, Rachel.”
“What?” I treaded faster, alarm spiking at the sound of his voice. Not alarmed. Not eager to save me. It was relaxed. Almost happy.
“. . . the plan is to kill her in Palm Springs, not here.”
Why did I expect anything different? Why, when I heard his voice, had I allowed myself a brief moment of hope?
“Jake,” I pleaded. “Jake, please. Call 911. Get a rope. I’m going to freeze to death down here.”
“I . . . um.” He paused. “I called all of the hospitals, looking for you.”
“Jake, please. Please. I need you to get me out. What . . .” Something hit me in the nose, and I screamed in surprise. It plunked into the water, and I saw a glint of metal before it was swallowed by the dark. Probably that stupid coin. The “brilliant” solution of leading Jake to rescue me.
“I made a wish.” He must have been leaning down, into the hole, because his voice was clearer, and I warred between hoping he would fall in and warning him to be careful. “I wish . . . I wished that I didn’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” My foot hit the edge of the well, and I tried to tread more in the center.
“I’m sorry, Rach. I can’t get you out of there.”
“Why?” I whispered, hoping that I was wrong, that he hadn’t been discussing a murder plot, that this wasn’t about money, and that some part of him still loved me and would have an urge to protect me, to rescue me, to be the hero. This was his chance at a grand moment. The Fulfillment of a Desire.
Instead, it looked like he was going to leave me here to die.
“I told you that trying to feed those rabbits was a stupid idea,” he said. “But that’s you. Always trying to get involved in something that should just be left alone.”
“Jake. Please. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you a million dollars if you get me out of here.”
“You know, I invited my granddad to the garage once. I planned it for when you were out of town, because I didn’t want you there, speaking over everything I said, correcting me for every step I took.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know why, while I was freezing to death, he was talking about a failed body shop.
“You know what he said when he saw the place? He said he wished he had a sugar mommy like I did.”
He really needed to get over that if this was what his panties were twisted over. I had money. Big deal. He hated if I invested in him; he hated if I hoarded it. I couldn’t win.
“That’s what everyone thinks. That I just spend your money, Rach.”
That was exactly what he did. Sat around. Gambled. Drank. Shopped. If I didn’t have limits on his cards, he’d never stop.
“I’m sorry, Rach, but I think it’s easier on everyone if you stay down there.”
“. . . stay down there.” My death, that’s what was easier on him. Me, freezing to death, if I didn’t drown first.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they find your body in a couple of days.”
There was a clang, then the drag of something heavy. “Until then, I’m going to cover this up. I don’t think anyone could hear you scream, but can you scream for me, Rach?”
“Scream for me, Rach.” He used to whisper that in my ear during sex. It was the final push he needed toward orgasm. The louder I reacted, the harder he got.
I didn’t scream. Not now. Not when it felt like I couldn’t even breathe. I clung to the side of the well and took a moment to rest, but the weight of the sweatshirt hung on me, pulling me down.
Who did I marry?
Who did I plan to have a child with?
Was I that terrible of a judge of character?
Of a husband?
Of a best friend?
There was another scrape of metal. Another call down toward me. “Rach? Did you yell? I can’t hear shit with this lid on.”
I said nothing.