Beneath Page 3

  In high school she started her blog, Stella Says. Despite the effusive title, no one really cared what she had to say. She didn’t use it as a soap box. There was no political rhetoric. It was simply a showcase of her random thoughts for the day. People always accused Stella of having her head in the clouds. If that was the case it was only because she wanted a bird's-eye view. She needed to see the whole picture. She hated gaps. She hated missing information.

  If there was some way to return from this catastrophe at sea, just think of the documentary she could compose.

  “Do you notice that?” Colin interrupted her thoughts.

  “What?”

  Unconsciously, she turned back towards that cleft in the cave wall, but there was no one staring back at her.

  “The echoes of our voices…they’re growing fuller. Acoustics can be erratic in caves, but I get the impression that the chamber ahead is much larger.”

  Stella sensed a breeze across her cheek. It felt foreboding–a harbinger of danger. But successful journalists had to possess nerves of steel. They had to be able to walk into unsavory situations and emerge with answers.

  She squared her shoulders and declared, “Let’s go find out.”

  “Colin!” Don’s voice sounded muffled, and yet it amplified off the walls. “Col, come back here.”

  Colin’s body braced. “Are you okay?” he yelled back.

  There was no answer.

  Colin cast one last skeptical glance into the abyss and murmured, “We’ll finish this after we check on them.”

  “Colin, you can’t leave us like that,” his father reprimanded. “Not now.”

  “We agreed that Stella and I should try to see if there was another access pool.”

  Despite the severity of their situation, Stella could tell that Colin was slightly annoyed by the censure. After all, he was right. They had agreed it was best to investigate. What if Mrs. Wexler was here already…maybe only yards away?

  “Yes.” Don sounded tired. “But, not for so long. The flashlight is failing. If it goes, we better stick together.”

  Stella crouched down next to Jill. Her friend was sullen, not even acknowledging Stella’s touch when she wrapped her arm around her for support. It was such a clash with Jill’s normally vivid personality. Stella was the inquisitive one. Always studying, constantly searching the internet to answer whatever bizarre question popped into her mind. Whatever happened to Einstein’s brain after the autopsy? Why don’t satellites show better images of the Apollo missions to the moon? What if we build an underground tunnel from San Francisco to Los Angeles and an earthquake strikes?

  In contrast to Stella’s relentless inquiries, Jill Wexler was embarking on a language arts degree in hopes of becoming a teacher. She loved kids, and most of their weekend plans in high school were thwarted by Jill’s babysitting duties. The whole neighborhood flocked to her because of her bright personality and tender actions with children.

  Jill used to tease Stella good-naturedly about overanalyzing. Jill would sit down on a lawn chair and hunch over with her elbow on her knee and her fist to her chin, mimicking the bronze sculpture of The Thinker.

  "This is Stel," she would say. "Always thinking.”

  But now the bubbly eighteen-year-old with the deep golden hair and sky blue eyes was withdrawn. Jill had even started humming–a distraction technique. Stella tried to identify the tune. It wasn’t even from Jill’s repertoire of favorites.

  Stella clutched her friend tighter and murmured a boost of confidence, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Jill stared blindly at the grainy floor.

  Glancing up, Stella found Jill’s father in the same state. Occasionally his head would roll back as he searched the black pool, but forlorn, he would drop back into his catatonic state.

  Standing beside them, Colin looked morose with his palm flat against the wall. It supported more than his weight. It was a crutch to allow him to think. She could see the wheels turning–analyzing–calculating. Remaining steadfast by his family’s side, he towered over them with a dark intensity that dared anyone to attempt them harm.

  With nothing else worth focusing on, she continued to study his features. His deep chestnut hair was beginning to dry. It was cut short with a few natural spikes poking up above his forehead. His jawline was blunt, locked in contemplation. The red Rutgers t-shirt was still damp, clinging to a muscular broad chest. His gray cargo shorts revealed long, tanned legs. She waited for him to break from his spell and suggest a plan, but he was caught up in his family’s melancholy.

  So that’s it. That’s what they wanted. They wanted the four-person huddle of death. She couldn’t do it. Maybe she had been imagining things in the adjacent chamber, but it was better than staring at a black pool–a one-way ticket to the insane asylum. Stella understood that they were waiting for that tepid portal to emit their mother–their wife. But no one was going to come through that gateway for her. She had to be independent. She had to find her own solace.

  Stella slipped from Jill’s side without a reaction from her despondent friend. She stroked Jill’s moist hair and whispered, “I’ll be right back. Stay strong.”

  A slight flinch of Jill’s shoulder served as the only acknowledgement. Stella tried to make eye contact with Jill’s father. His shoulders were hunched, his arms wrapped around his knees. He leaned slightly under the weight of his daughter resting against him. Colin crouched to join them, grabbing a rock and tossing it into the water. The ripple effect made their heads rise in unison, and in harmony they all sank again.

  Stella crept away.

  Sure, she was scared. Out of her mind, scared. But she had to move. She had to keep moving. If the glow proved to be just a figment of her imagination she would be back soon.

  Climbing the row of boulders that dissected this grotto from the chamber next to it, Stella’s sandal skidded on the moist surface and she scraped her thigh as she slipped down the other side. Ignoring the mishap, she blinked, acclimating with the loss of light. Nervous fingertips touched the wall for guidance as memory directed her. Eventually a diffused glow made objects discernable again. Soon she found herself across from the sharp slash in the opposite wall.

  Stella squinted into that crevice, prepared to meet the simmering eyes of a subterranean phantom. It was empty, though.

  Forcing herself past that sinister lair, she hiked forward, feeling a tickle of wind flutter her bangs. The walls brightened as she progressed. There was an erratic bob to the glow, as if the source was in motion.

  Casting a glance behind her, the path to the Wexlers was no longer visible. A yawning blackness had claimed it, seeking to obliterate her route. Stella took a deep breath. The pungent smell of brine filled her nostrils. Focusing on the pulsing glow, she followed the natural bend of the cavern until she heard something.

  She froze.

  Curse her chest. It wheezed. That thin whistle was all she was able to hear. Another step. Another few inches closer to the light. Suddenly a shadow formed on the wall. A nebulous hulk that loomed across the craggy surface and then vanished. Stella refused to give in to fear. She crept forward and heard a slothful tread. It was so close.

  Another curve and she emerged into a vaulted cavern. The hint of wind continued across her face, but the breeze was warm–the cavern sultry. It was a shock. She had expected a biting chill in this underwater wasteland.

  The light that she had chased was stationary now. Tucked behind a boulder, its gleam cast a halo around the rock’s perimeter. Stella took another step and then shrieked. A figure stepped into the light. A man. A man with a gaunt face and simmering eyes.

  A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  Stella’s heart convulsed.

  “What the hell?” Colin hissed behind her.

  The figure retreated so that half of his body was consumed by the shadows. What remained visible was a medium-sized man in a knitted sweater, the cuffs unraveled, casting spaghetti noodles of wool around his wrists. Black pants hung loos
e, the knees patched with another swathe of fabric. A black knit cap revealed a fringe of graying hair over a thin, angular face. The eyes she had thought were simmering were merely reflecting off whatever the source of light was. The man bent into that glow and when he rose, a yellow radius ensnared him. In his scarred hand was a lantern.

  Stella’s heart thudded.

  “Who are you?” Colin asked as he stepped out from behind Stella, strategically guiding her behind him.

  She wasn’t about to protest having Colin’s wide shoulders as a barrier between her and this creepy specter. She hiked up onto her toes to try and gauge the man’s reaction. Was he even real? Were she and Colin jointly deranged?

  One graying eyebrow cocked inquisitively as the man studied Colin. He scratched under his hat and cleared his throat.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Sorry?

  Stella clamped down on her fear. She cracked her head around Colin’s arm and demanded, “Sorry? For what? Who are you?”

  Colin turned and narrowed his eyes at her.

  “I’m sorry you found your way down here,” the man uttered in a hoarse voice. “You must have been travelling with the woman?”

  Colin tensed. “What woman?”

  “A woman surfaced in the grotto not too long ago. She is not well, but we’re trying.”

  We’re?

  “Blonde?” Colin barked.

  “Yes, yes,” the man kept his face averted.

  He was looking deeper into the chamber.

  “Are there more of you?” the man asked.

  “More of us?” Stella quipped. “How many more of you are there?”

  “Stella,” Colin lectured.

  Pressing her lips tight, she contained herself, but the questions were brewing, boiling up in her throat.

  “Yes,” Colin responded. “My father and my sister are behind us.”

  The man peered over Colin’s shoulder. “Do they need medical attention?”

  “Why, is there a hospital down here?” Stella retorted.

  I mean, come on, seriously.

  Colin gave her another quelling look. She glared back.

  “My father is having trouble breathing, but he’s recovering.”

  The man nodded. “Why don’t you go back to him? We’ll come for you.”

  “We’ll? How did you get down here?” Colin asked. “How do we get back to the surface?”

  Thank you, Col!

  At least he was coming around and finally asking the critical questions.

  The man lifted his lantern, bringing the light closer to his face. A chill jolted through her. This wasn’t the gaunt visage she had witnessed in the crack in the cave wall, but this man looked equally disturbing. He was pale to the point that his skin appeared translucent, with black lines scoring across his cheeks. Veins, no doubt, but their contrast was so pronounced under the thin skin. Shadows clung under gray eyes like the black grease football players use to reduce glare. His eyes seemed lifeless–little granite pebbles inserted in his lean face.

  “It’s easy to get down here,” he uttered in a thick voice. The granite eyes shifted between her and Colin as he added, “It’s impossible to get back up.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Don Wexler studied his son in the waning light. The beam offered a tarnished blush that was amplified only by the border of absolute darkness.

  “It’s okay, son.” He nodded, resigned. “It’s time for you to sit down with us. You tried.”

  Even without the light Stella could sense Colin’s frustration. It crackled through the air. He loomed tall under the stalactites waiting to feast on his head.

  “I’m not imagining things, Dad. Stella saw him too. We’re both completely lucid. He said–”

  Stella understood Colin’s reluctance to divulge the news about his mother. Don already thought his son was delusional. He would find it cruel that Colin would bait him in their final hours.

  “He said what?” Don prompted in a husky voice.

  “Never mind.” Colin turned his back to the group huddled on the ground.

  Stella wanted to go to him and offer some notion of comfort. Perhaps she should speak up and validate what they had seen.

  Watching Don and Jill absorbed in their grief, Stella searched the channel she and Col had just emerged from. There was no glow. No hint of life. The void encroached now with bleeding fingers of obscurity slowly fisting around the grotto.

  Maybe Don was right. Maybe she and Colin were delusional. How could they have seen a human down here–over a thousand feet from the surface?

  Stella folded down onto her knees, tucking her head and focusing inward, conjuring up an image of her mother making meatballs in the kitchen. Caroline Gullaksen used the back of her hand to scratch her nose, her palms speckled with parmesan and bread eggs.

  “Stell, can you get me a paper towel?”

  Stella yanked a paper towel off the rack and taunted her mother with it. “Do I get to pick the movie tonight?”

  “Heck, no. You’ll pick some science fiction crap about sharks in outer space.”

  “Then no paper towel for you.”

  Caroline wrinkled her nose to avert a sneeze. “Fine,” she relented. “Sharks in space it is. Now hurry!”

  Stella wiped her mother’s nose. “A double feature?”

  Cool fingers touched hers yanking Stella from the memory. She opened her eyes but there was barely any light to register the source. She recognized it, though. Jill had reached for her hand and tucked it against her hip. The faint drum of a pulse beat there. It was reassuring. When the light finally failed, at least that stabilizing throb of life would still persist…for a little while.

  It felt good to have the touch of her best friend at her side, but she wished…she wished Colin would hold her. If she was going to die, couldn’t her last wish be to die in his arms? Okay, it sounded corny, and pathetic as hell. Colin had never even glanced at her in that way…but still, it was her death…and that was her wretched wish.

  In the blackness Stella heard the shift of Colin’s shoe. He was still standing. He knew nothing of her desire. He would forever be the elusive older brother of her best friend, a man put on this earth for Stella to fantasize about.

  She drew in a tremulous breath laden with the dank scent of stagnant seawater. Their power huddle could not stave off the darkness. It grew into a yawning despondency aimed to bury them alive.

  When the last spark of the flashlight faded Stella heard Colin curse. Her heart kicked up its pace and she started to hyperventilate. Jill’s whimpers dissolved into a keening moan. Don chanted hopeless words of assurance. The tomb closed in on them.

  Light.

  A pulsing light to match her heartbeat.

  A shadow…two shadows…scaling the cave wall until they grew into macabre giants.

  Stella planted her palms on the moist ground to hoist up into a half-crouch. The light resumed at a less frenetic pace, as the shadows shortened, eaten by the blunt stalagmites that formed a stockade around the pool.

  Her eyes hungrily latched onto the bobbing lantern as it rounded the corner. She feasted on it rather than the pale, gnarled fingers that clutched the handle.

  Only after the gasps sounded beside her did the source of this miracle register. She rose when she saw Colin step towards the approaching couple.

  Two people down here!

  The man she and Colin had seen was joined by an equally haggard woman. She wore a calf-length dress that might have once been white, but was now deeply marbled with diverse stains. Dark hair peppered with gray was curled up into a loose bun that eclipsed the woman’s head. Wide eyes flickered for a second as the man raised the lantern.

  Had this been the face Stella had seen in the shadows?

  “What the–?” Don muttered as he struggled upright.

  Jill inserted herself under her father’s arm for support, looking as if she couldn’t handle much more trauma.

  “I imagine our presence here comes
as quite a shock to you,” the stranger stated in a hoarse voice.

  “Shock?” Don laughed hollowly. “You think this shocks us?”

  The high pitch alarmed Stella. It caught Colin’s attention as well. He stepped in between the couple and his father.

  “My mother. You said–”

  “We will take you to her,” the man stated with a nod.

  “Anne!” Don stumbled away from Jill’s clutch.

  Colin’s solid arm proved a barrier, thwarting his father’s attempt to charge forward.

  “Who are you people?” Don cried out. “Did your ship go down in the storm too? Where are we? Where is my wife?”

  “Dad,” Colin clasped his father’s upper arms. “Easy. The answers will come. Let’s find Mom.”

  Don composed himself somewhat, but Stella worried about his stability–physically and mentally. Glancing at this bizarre couple in their curious frayed attire she was concerned about her own mental state. Had she already died and was stuck in some deviant perdition? A quick fact check of her life convinced her that she would head north after death, but apparently this tribunal had other plans.

  “Come with us,” the man uttered. “We know you will have many questions. Let Sarah check you out and then we can talk.”

  Well, whatever direction death was taking her, Stella wanted to hear these answers.

  Unconsciously, she patted the back pocket of her shorts, but her cell phone was not there. It was back in the cabin of the STARKISSED where she left it on the counter. The recorder would have come in handy because this was about to be the interview of a lifetime.

  “Who is Sarah?” Stella asked as she fell in directly behind the couple.

  The man cast a glance over his shoulder, his step wavering to accommodate Don Wexler’s slow pace. Don’s gait improved after the first step or two and now his expression looked resolved.