Excerpt from Love Me All The Way
Matthias and Sarita have found themselves adrift at sea off the coast of Tobago, held captive by a drug-running virago called Janelle. During a struggle over the boat's radio, Janelle has knocked Sarita overboard.
Sarita was in the water.
And for the life of him, he couldn’t see her.
He didn’t take the time to remove his glasses or shoes. He hit the water awkwardly, raising up a tremendous splash, he, who so prided himself on his diving skill, his ability to cleave the water like a blade dropped point-first.
As soon as he found himself submerged, he stuck his arms out, searching.
She’d been wearing his shirt, a gray one, and denim shorts. Dark colors in a dark ocean. She can swim, he told himself. She’s a good swimmer. A strong one. She’ll pop to the surface any second now, and fill her lungs with air. She’s got to.
But she didn’t.
“Sari?” he yelled. He could see nothing six inches below the surface. Even that wonderful full moon didn’t have the heart to penetrate that dark water. He spun around to face the boat. “Shine the light over here, Janelle! I need light!”
There was a sound right next to him, a splash that froze the blood in his veins. Half of him wanted to believe it was Sarita, breaking the surface. The other half was too afraid to find out what else it could be. Open waters meant sharks. It was perhaps not cool enough for great whites, or even makos…but tigers and bulls liked the warm waters.
Staving off panic, he followed the sound with his eyes, only to realize that it was their vandalized radio, which dallied on the waves for the merest moment before it began to sink.
He didn’t have time to grieve its loss. The radio meant nothing if Sarita couldn’t be found. Loudly, he called her name again, and then pleaded once more for light. “Light, Janelle, dammit! Turn the spotlight on the water!”
A beam cut through the blackness. He widened the arc of his search, reaching all around him, going down as far as he could, reaching into the void. He tried to resist his body’s demands for oxygen; every time he rose for another breath was a few more seconds that Sarita lost.
He was almost sobbing with terror and frustration, even though the resultant upheaval in his body and his quickened respiration would do him no good. In his entire life he had never endured such a sickening sense of hopelessness. Each time he reached out and drew only empty hands to himself, his faith shrank.
Faith.
An ironic word. A word Sarita often used. She was a woman of so much faith, even in the face of his derision. She had prayed to her God, asked Him with the pure faith of a child asking a favor of a parent, to spare their lives. And now she was in the water, and he couldn’t find her. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. A god with a warped sense of humor.
Not so, Sarita would have said. A god willing to make you risk everything you hold dear, just so that you have no other choice than to turn to Him, so that you can see for yourself, and wonder, at how great and magnificent He truly is.
Rubbish. The only person he ever had to rely on was himself, and he’d find her if he drowned trying.
“Matt!” Janelle was hanging over the edge of the boat, one arm outstretched, backlit so he couldn’t see her face. “She’s gone. Get back in the boat.”
Sharp disappointment wrenched in his gut. That voice was not the one he longed to hear, and what it was saying was obscene. If Janelle was right, and Sarita was gone, logic would dictate that he return to the boat. But if Sarita were indeed gone, his heart argued, there was nothing to return to. He kept on looking. As he did so, the presence of Sarita’s God loomed larger, refusing to be ignored
I don’t believe in you, he insisted. I’ll find her on my own. He went down again, back into the ink, reaching for her and grasping at nothing.
He was so weak. Powerless in the face of this huge and awesome ocean. He felt terrified, alone and ashamed. “God,” he breathed. “My God, my God.” His own words shocked him so deeply that he went still.
Somebody heard him. He knew in his heart that Someone was listening, and he was far from alone. What did you say to someone you hadn’t spoken to in twenty years? “Our Father,” he began. He wasn't sure he’d remember the rest.
But Sarita hadn’t relied on prayers that were written down and learned off by rote. She’d talked to Him. Opened up her heart and asked for what she wanted. If she believed that would work, well, so did he.
“Help me,” he prayed. “I know I haven’t believed, and I know that I’ve walked away from You, so I don’t deserve any favors, but help me find her. Do it for her, not for me.” The wind-whipped waves broke over him, bowling him over like a living enemy that was growing stronger with each passing moment, but with Sarita’s faith in his heart, he dove again.
Nothing.
And again.
Empty hands.
He submerged once more, kicking hard, down where it was too black for human eyes to see. The pressure of the water weighed upon him. His lungs screamed, begged for one last breath. Even when his body was threatening to save itself and return up top, his mind and heart propelled it forward, outvoting it two to one.
Then something bumped into him.
His oxygen-starved brain screeched shark-shark-shark, over and over again, and all he wanted to do was get away, but before panic could rob him of his last shred of sanity, he held out his hand and touched it, preparing himself to encounter rough, sandpapery skin, a sleek, powerful tail, or multiple rows of long, jagged teeth.
He touched fabric.
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