Page 64 of Blue in the Deep Blue Sea

I took a deep breath and unfolded the paper, but the ink had bled into the pages. The words were little more than blurred stains, impossible to read. I’d have to wait for it to dry.

With a quiet sigh, I folded it carefully and slipped it back into my pocket while she shifted beside me.

“Oliver?” Her hand reached out, searching for me. “Can you hold me a little longer?”

I closed my eyes and slid down until my head rested beside hers. Slipping one arm beneath her, I gently pulled her against my chest.

The night air had turned cold, and she was the only warmth left beside me.

Without a word, I leaned into her.

She didn’t speak either. I don’t know if it was the warmth between us or simply her presence, but for the first time since everything had fallen apart, my mind finally went quiet.

I closed my eyes and slowly fell to sleep.

The sound of seagulls pulled me from sleep. I jerked awake, blinking hard, trying to work out whether I had really heard them or if I had imagined it. Before I even rubbed my eyes, I searched for where the cries were coming from.

The fog was slowly lifting, the sun was breaking through the clouds. Morning had come. A warm orange glow stretched across the sea as we drifted in the raft. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I spotted the top of the lighthouse far away, its beacon still burning, guiding the way. And as the mist continued to retreat, I realized we were much closer than I’d thought.

“It’s the island,” I smiled and jumped forward to paddle towards it.

The movement stirred Gabriella awake.

She weakly pushed herself up from the raft, her fingers searching until they found the hem of my pants. She curled them and quietly asked, “Are we home?”

“No,” I said. “But we’re close to land. I think it’s one of the islets off Li Galli.”

She nodded and kept holding on to me.

That used to bother me. I’d pull away or push her hand aside. But now I wanted her closer, and closer, and I didn’t even know why.

I was rowing so fast I didn’t notice the jagged rocks circling the island, their sharp edges hidden beneath the surface, waiting to tear the bottom out of a raft. One of them still held the remains of a small fishing boat, splintered against the stone.

I slowed my strokes, steering toward the lighthouse, but the current carried us to the back of the island, on the opposite side of the lighthouse.

The morning was impossibly still. I looked down into the water and could see the depth of it. The sea was so clear it felt endless.

There wasn’t a single fish.

If this was Li Galli, it was known as the Siren Islands because of these rocks. According to the myths, sirens lived in caves on the island, and whenever ships sailed too close, they would call to the sailors, luring them nearer until the ships struck the rocks and sank. The Greeks believed the sirens devoured the sailors, but later the stories became less about monsters and more about revenge.

It’s strange how those myths have almost disappeared. We don’t even know if our ancestors were completely out of their minds when they came up with them, or if there was some truth buried beneath the stories.

Either way, I didn’t believe in sirens, but I did believe in the danger.

Especially when I spotted the same shark that had attacked us near the yacht, gliding after us beneath the surface.

“Fuck,” I muttered, slowing my strokes. Every fucking vibration seemed to pull it closer.

These animals were supposed to be intelligent. They rarely attacked people. But something kept drawing this one to us. Maybe, from below, we looked like sea turtles floating on the surface. Or maybe it really wanted us to show us they are on top of the food chain.

Then, just as we were no more than five meters from shore, the raft scraped against a rock and lurched to a stop.

I felt freezing water pour inside. Tiny fish darted through the raft alongside the loaf of bread still sealed inside its plastic bag.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered again. “Gabriella, whatever I tell you now, please don’t panic.”

It was pointless.