Chapter 24
Cold hands hold me tight. I’m paralyzed. Can’t move, can’t tear myself free.
My body is floating in the water as pale apparitions drift by. It’s freezing cold, and the gritty seabed grazes my skin. The sand penetrates my mouth and eye sockets, clogs up every orifice, fills my throat and prevents me from screaming.
I try to roar anyway but make no sound. I have to free myself, but my arms and legs refuse to obey. My nose and throat are on fire, and my chest aches from lack of oxygen. I feel like I’m about to explode.
No matter how I twist and turn, I can’t get any air.
My lungs are burning, burning, burning.
A strange face appears, then disappears just as quickly. Seaweed sways.
Mom, is that you?
Help me!
It’s so dark. There are no sounds below the surface of the sea and no one here to save me. Yet someone is whispering in some unknown language. I feel like I should understand, but the meaning of the words is too slippery to grasp. The strange sounds are speaking to someone else, not me.
I can’t hold my breath any longer. I can’t fight my body as it screams for air. I surrender, open my mouth, and draw water into my lungs.
I’m going to die.
But nothing happens. I take another breath, let the water flow into my mouth. Then comes the pain—crushing, heavy pain, like someone is sitting on my chest. The figures in the darkness are coming closer. I know I have to free myself, but I don’t know how.
Am I going to die here at the bottom of the sea?
Mom, I cry silently.
An idea seeps into my consciousness, half dreaming, half awake. Is this a dream? Is none of this real? What’s going on?
Please wake up, I beg myself. I have to escape this nightmare before I die.
Somehow, I manage to force my eyes open.
I’m lying on my back in my own bed. On my chest, curled up like a cat, sits a dark shadow with long, flowing hair and shining eyes that feel familiar somehow.
Long talons on its fingertips are sunk deep into my chest.
I stare in astonishment at the shadow.
When it realizes I’m awake, it removes its claws and disappears. There’s no time to scream or bat it away. It’s already gone, vanished into thin air.
I blink a few times in bewilderment and run my hand over my chest where the thing just was. Then I get out of bed, run into the bathroom, and pull off my pajama top.
But I see nothing unusual in the mirror. The skin over my ribs is smooth and untouched. No scratches or cuts, nothing is broken.
My eyes look wild, haunted. The longer I stand there, the more I start to doubt myself.
Was there really something there? That shadow, that weight on my chest? Or did I dream that too?
The image fades but the fear remains. My mouth is dry, and my throat aches from inhaling cold water in my nightmare.
Above the toilet is a small window. It’s pitch black outside. It’s the middle of the night, so nobody is awake.
And yet I hear a faint splashing sound from the bay.
I can’t help but check to make sure the window is properly locked.