Kronos

40

The Titan

Atticus paced in front of the long window that stretched along the outside wall of his cabin’s living room, agitated eager for action. With every glimmer of light reflecting off the ocean outside, he would glance up, hoping to catch sight of Kronos rising and falling-alive. The creature he’d fought so passionately to kill could live without fear of death at Atticus’s hands. In fact, he would do everything he could to make sure Kronos survived. He’d promised Trevor he would kill Kronos once Giona’s safety had been ensured, but he knew he couldn’t do it. His thirst for revenge, now squelched, had been replaced by concern for his daughter and a renewed interest in preserving the ocean’s life, of which Kronos represented the pinnacle.

A modern mystery. An unknown species. Primal yet intelligent. What did it want? Why would it swallow Giona if it had no intention of digesting her? And why did it let him live?

Answers to his questions did not exist, so he buried them, ignoring their repetitious chant. But in the absence of questions came a torrent of emotions. Self-loathing over wrecking the submersible, preventing him or anyone else from returning to the deep, pummeled his nerves. Relief that Kronos and Giona had survived the battle gave him hope but twisted a knot in his gut. Giona sat alone, inside a giant sea creature. She needed him more than ever, and he couldn’t get to her. And fear, the most powerful of the emotions torturing him, fueled his doubts. Giona might have been alive earlier, but she could already be dead. The shell fired from the big cannon could have hit her. Kronos could have spat her out, deep underwater. Stomach juices could have finally done her in. A lack of oxygen…The many ways Giona could die inside the belly of the beast numbered so high they overwhelmed Atticus.

He pictured his girl, terrified, sitting in Kronos’s belly, knowing she would eventually die there, alone. Images of her crying throughout her life filled his mind’s eye. Age three after a toy had been stolen. Age six after stubbing a toe. Age ten when she fell off her bike. He’d always had trouble seeing her cry. Her face had a way of looking so sad and desperate for comfort. The memory of her face haunted his imagination and distracted him from the question at hand.

What do I do now?

A hopeful glance at a distant wave found nothing but the setting sun. Night would soon arrive, then the morning. By that time he’d need a course of action that would allow him not only to retrieve Giona, but also convince Trevor that Kronos would die soon after. With the return of his daughter’s life also came his previous values. But with this renewed moral compass came guilt. He’d betrayed all that he held dear for an act of vengeance. Killing had once been a part of his life, but Maria had changed that. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she would have been ashamed of him.

One look at Andrea as she entered the living room from the bedroom told him he was wrong. Andrea had forgiven him, and Maria would have as well. As Atticus continued his internal monologue, he failed to notice Andrea toss a water bottle to him and shout, “Catch!”

The bottle caught him in the side of the head and bounced to the floor. Atticus, caught off guard, staggered backward and nearly fell over. Once stable, he looked to the floor to see what hit him and turned to Andrea, who had her hands clasped over her mouth. Atticus couldn’t tell if she was afraid she’d hurt him or if she was hiding a smile.

Atticus chuckled. “You trying to finish me off?”

“I said, ‘catch,’” Andrea pointed out, allowing her own infectious giggle to escape. She moved over to him and examined the mark left by the bottle. “You’ll be fine.” She stood on her toes and kissed his forehead. “See? All better.”

“Gee, thanks. You’d make a great mom”

Andrea’s smile faded, and Atticus cursed himself as he realized what he’d said. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Andrea said. A slight smile returned to her lips. “And for the record, I was a great mom.”

Atticus looked into Andrea’s eyes as their bodies moved closer. Like a ship caught in a whirlpool, he slid toward her, unable to stop. In that moment, all his concerns, worries, and self-torture disappeared. “Maybe you will be again?”

Andrea’s smile grew, and she was about to respond when a quick knock came at the door. Atticus’s hand went to his side and rested on the reloaded. 357. He and Trevor might have an understanding, but Remus would be trouble again. His ego had been bruised too many times to see clearly and was too stupid to know when to quit.

Moving silently over the smooth, hardwood floor, Atticus reached the door and peered through the peephole. His hand came away from the magnum when he saw O’Shea standing outside the door looking about nervously.

Atticus opened the door and greeted the black-clad priest with a half smile. “Come on in, Father.”

When O’Shea didn’t move forward, Atticus frowned. “What?

“All of the rooms have hidden cameras,” O’Shea said softly. “Trevor is on the bridge right now, so no one is watching, but I guarantee he’s recording your room.”

Atticus squinted. He wasn’t surprised Trevor had surveillance, but he was a little taken aback that O’Shea didn’t want to be seen. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain in my quarters,” O’Shea said, taking a step back.

Atticus knew when to shut up and follow someone. He stepped out into the hall, followed by Andrea.

“You’re not under surveillance?” Atticus asked as they moved down the hall.

“Trevor trusts me more than most, but that’s like saying you’d prefer baby poop on a blanket over dog crap on the rug. Either way, it’s still a pile of shit.” O’Shea glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “Something my father used to say.”

“A wise man,” Andrea said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“What I mean,” O’Shea said, “is that while Trevor trusts me, he really trusts no one. He’s had my quarters under surveillance since I came on board.”

“Then why-”

“Are we going to my quarters over yours?” O’Shea finished. “I rerouted the video feed from my room so it plays back old loops of my quarters at the same time of day. When I’m not doing something…fishy, I let the cameras watch. But when I need to, I can sync a loop in and do as I please without Trevor or the Hawaiian gorilla knowing what I’m doing.”

“And what would a priest being doing that shouldn’t be seen?” Atticus asked, his interest growing.

“Honestly, at first I was just looking at pornography, but lately I’ve been selling corporate secrets.”

O’Shea paused as Atticus and Andrea froze, their faces flat. “Well, c’mon,” he said. “We don’t want to be found out.”

O’Shea unlocked the door to his quarters and swung it open. He motioned them within. Sensing O’Shea’s urgency, they moved inside without another word. But once the door closed behind them, Andrea spoke as she looked up at the massive crucifix hanging on the wall. It hung above a U-shaped desk with three laptops, which filled the darkened room with an electric glow. “So you’re a computer-savvy, porno-loving, corporate-secrets-selling priest?”

“Not all men of the cloth are pure, Ms. Vincent.” O’Shea laughed. “Of course, to be a man of the cloth, I’d have to be a priest. And that, good lady, I am not.