Kronos

42

The Titan

With Atticus’s mind made up, he and Andrea snuck back to their room and, upon O’Shea’s suggestion, made small talk about how beautiful the night sky at sea looked, providing an excuse for why they’d left the room. They also talked about Giona and how they hoped Trevor would aid them. No malice toward Trevor was mentioned, and their conversation was lighthearted, hopeful…and phony-designed to convince Trevor that they had no mutinous intentions.

As darkness descended over the Gulf of Maine, Atticus dimmed the lights in the room so that only the faintest glow emanated. The low light allowed them to relax. Not even the best camera could see them in the near-pitch-dark conditions. According to O’Shea, the cameras did not have night-vision or infrared capabilities, so they could move about without being watched. But to not be heard required whispering…or background noise.

A saxophone ballad, compliments of Kenny G, blared from the bedside CD player. They’d checked for radio stations, but nothing came in so far out to sea, and Kenny G was the very best CD they found in the dreadful collection stored in the bedside cabinet. Atticus had thought about asking O’Shea for his Stones CD, but figured the techno-geek faux-priest was more likely to have a hard drive full of downloaded MP3s rather than actual CDs. A tumultuous cascade of saxified jazz ripped through the air before settling down to a calmer tune.

“Please, God, kill me now,” Atticus said, sure his head would burst from the agony.

“It’s not that bad,” Andrea said as she stretched her weary body under the sheets of the bed they occupied. During the night of phony conversation, they’d also tended to each other’s wounds, applying ice, gauze, and gentle gestures, but nothing beyond normal doctor-patient behavior. They were most likely being watched, and certainly recorded.

But when Atticus extinguished all the lights except for the bathroom, its dull glow barely reaching the edge of the bedroom, they settled into bed, expecting sleep to come fast. But they talked instead, first about Giona, then about Abigail. When Andrea began crying, Atticus turned on the music. While Kenny G wasn’t exactly appropriate for the moment, neither was letting some peeping Tom get a kick out of her pain.

As Atticus held her, Andrea told him all about Abigail, how well she played the piano, how funny she was when she danced, and how much she loved playing basketball. They’d been close. A single mom and her daughter forging their way through life together-a team. But a year ago, some jerk drank too much and decided to go for a joyride. He ran a stop sign, sideswiped three cars, then plowed up onto the sidewalk, where he ran over Abigail and continued on without tapping the brakes. The car turned out to be stolen, and the man was never found.

Beyond feeling sorrow for her loss, Atticus felt a deep, welling shame. She’d borne a burden as heavy as his and had continued on with her life. While he was prepared to die for his vengeance, she’d mourned the loss and kept jumping out of helicopters to save other people’s lives.

As Andrea calmed under the soothing effects of Atticus’s fingertips through her hair, she snuggled up against him. They shared the embrace for several minutes without speaking, listening to Kenny’s sax ballads, until Atticus couldn’t stand it any longer.

Having broken the silence, Atticus felt Andrea’s spirit lifting. She’d revealed the darkest moment in her life, and the confessions of her tortured soul further strengthened the old bond between them. At first, Atticus found it hard to believe that his love for Andrea could have returned so quickly. He worried that his feelings resulted from the desperation and sense of loss he felt; but now Giona was alive, and with that hope came a fervent desire to be with Andrea.

“You know,” Andrea said. “When I first found you…”

“On the Titan. ”

Andrea sighed. “When you were…when I rescued you on the yacht.”

“Oh, that boat.” Atticus wasn’t sure where she was going, but hoisted his head up from the pillow and rested it on his propped up hand to let her know he was listening. He continued to stroke her arm as she spoke.

“When I found you, you were dead.”

Atticus felt a lump, like a cancerous tumor, suddenly grow in his throat.

“When I flipped you over and saw your face again, I felt something in me change. Whatever walls I’d put up after Abigail died came crumbling down. I worked on you for a minute straight before you came back. At first, I honestly thought you might hate me for saving you. I heard the anguish in your voice. The pain. Bringing you back meant you’d have to live with that pain for the rest of your life. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. But now- I just thought you should know. I don’t want to los-”

Atticus leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips. As he leaned over her, embracing her, his back wrenched with pain, and he grunted.

“You okay?” she asked, ready to pull him down but sensing his pain was genuine.

“Just my back,” Atticus said.

“Roll over, let me take a whack at it.”

Atticus rolled onto his stomach. Just as the bed finished absorbing his pressure points, Andrea had mounted his backside. “Where does it hurt?”

“Pretty much everywhere,” Atticus said with a smile.

Andrea dug into his back, working the muscles up and down, locating knots and easing them out. Atticus felt his tension forced away, in part because of the physical attention, but also from the love he felt pouring into him with every squeeze. After several minutes, Atticus flexed and stretched his back.

Andrea’s noted his movement. “Did I get all the kinks worked out?”

Atticus rolled over beneath Andrea so that she sat just below his waist, which was exactly where he wanted her. He smiled craftily in the dark, and though he doubted she could see him, he knew she heard the intention in his voice. “All but one.”

She leaned down and kissed him, giving his chest the same treatment his back had just received. As she sat up, tugging her shirt up, Atticus caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He immediately tensed and stopped moving. Andrea followed suit.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Three silhouettes suddenly blotted out the light from the bathroom.

“No!” Atticus spat as he spun beneath Andrea’s body, reaching for the. 357 on the nightstand. But a sharp sting in his shoulder and a gasp from Andrea told him he’d never make it. His hand slid away from the nightstand and fell limp to the side of the bed. As consciousness faded away, Atticus heard a single word that would fuel each and every nightmare he’d have while unconscious.

“ Aloha! ”

Atticus woke to a blaring headache and a light so bright he could barely open his eyes. Each pump of his heart brought a throb of blinding pain. He opened his eyes again, but the light assaulted his visual senses and caused him to double over. He fell to the hard floor, eyelids clenched. The pain in his head was coupled with dizziness and nausea. He worked on his breathing first, calming himself, using his other senses to probe the room. He smelled metal and paint. He body felt hot and sticky with sweat.

With his head still bowed to the floor, Atticus opened his eyes again. When he saw the stark white floor below him, he clenched them shut again. The brig. The white-hot, no-way-out brig of the Titan. He cursed himself for letting his guard down. He shouldn’t have trusted Trevor.

Andrea.

Atticus opened his eyes again, fighting against the pain, and scanned the room. He found Andrea slumped atop one of the wooden benches. She looked unharmed and unmolested. He crawled to her and placed two fingers against her wrist. Her blood pulsed strong beneath her skin. Remus could have easily killed them both but didn’t. He couldn’t be sure, but he imagined the man wanted them awake when he finished them off. And after a few more hours of roasting, Atticus wouldn’t have much fight left in him.