Page 3 of Red Waters

Staring at my sneakers, I shrugged.

“Hawaii will be a blast.”

Chastising myself, I continued the lie.

“Will you at least promise to take care of your ankle?”

The contract my father had on my life went awry, and the hit-and-run he had intended ended up shattering my ankle instead of killing me. I suppose it was still a win for my dad. He wanted me to pick a ‘real’ career and be a doctor. Allowing me to dance at a performing arts program in high school was only to keep my bitching to a minimal.

Warm, perfect arms surrounded me, and I almost caved. But I am Whitney. According to Link, my picture is next to the definition of stubborn. So, after a tearful goodbye, Link smiled at me, clearly unaware of my conversation with his father and my true plans. He wished me luck, believing I was off to travel the world after Hawaii. It hurt to be deceitful, but it hurt worse to think of Crash hidden in the ground somewhere. Marina, Link and Crash’s mother, not so willing to be forced to give up Crash again, refused to tell where her son was buried.

* * *

Upon landing in Russia, my ignorance had me thinking I would waltz off the plane in the Pulkovo International Airport and into the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Petersburg without speaking a word of the Russian language. And, I also didn’t realize Pulkovo is the fourth busiest airport in Russia. Following the crowd from the plane was how I found my luggage. After that, I kept repeating, “Four Seasons’ shuttle?” Many passengers didn’t speak English and shook their heads no, but the ones who did understand me—or simply took pity on my terrified expression—would speak in a very strong accent, “That way.” I would head in the direction of their pointed fingers until lost again and start the process over again. “Four Seasons’ shuttle?” I eventually found the bus and rode approximately thirty minutes to my lavish hotel. I had dirty money in my bank account and planned on burning every penny before it tainted my conscience.

Standing in front of the Four Seasons, I couldn’t help but experience a haunted sensation when seeing the lion statues at the entrance of the block-wide hotel. It was the first time I second guessed what I was doing. Being in a foreign country is scary, especially alone at the age of eighteen. On the sidewalk, I held Link’s water charm and wished for him to magically appear. He didn’t. Maybe that is why I was utterly relieved to hear a few of the hotel employees speaking English. At the counter, I sighed in relief and gawked at the breathtaking lobby as they checked me in. An incredibly high vaulted ceiling was being supported by marvelous marble pillars, showing the architecture of a whole different era that had been expertly preserved.

My hotel room wasn’t huge or grand, but it was beautiful with light colors and plenty of space for me. I instantly favored the grand windows that began at my knees and reached the ceiling. The sun was rising as I pulled open the window doors to hear the city’s morning hustle and bustle. The temperature was similar to home in Connecticut, brisk in the morning, so I shut them and faced my bed. It had a white blanket, a light blue canopy above that had been drawn back, and was promising lullabies.

Opening my suitcase, I retrieved my favorite pajamas. They were so old they were practically see-through but had once been my brother’s and brought me immense comfort. Once dressed for bed, my exhausted body slid under the covers to sleep off the time change, connecting flights, and one long flight with a screaming baby.

In the hotel room, I woke on and off during the day to unfamiliar noises. For solace, I would pull up my cell phone’s screensaver: Link. His smile had me quickly at ease and falling back to sleep every time. Snuggled in, I kept telling myself being this tired after a long trip was normal, but I think stress had finally won. After Crash’s death, I allowed myself no reprieve from guilt.

When I woke again, my room was dark, and I was thirsty. After figuring out how to turn on the lamp, I found a complimentary water, downed it, then crawled back into bed. This time, I couldn’t fall back to sleep even with Link smiling at me. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Mr. Jones’ photo of Yury in my mind.

The anger returned…

Grabbing my laptop, I scurried to the little desk in my room and settled in the chair. Fortunately, I had brought correct adapters to charge my laptop because the battery was drained, like me, after the journey to Russia. I searched and searched the web but couldn’t find the name “Yury” that matched the picture of the face I had seen over my cell phone the night Crash was killed. I slammed my eyes shut and groaned through the pain vandalizing my heart. Flashbacks of being deeply immersed in the blue waters, Crash leading our descent, his fingers twitching against mine. He was alive…

I had been, too. Then the blue waters slowly faded to black…

My next memory was waking on the dock, choking on water as Link did CPR on me.

Vigorously, my fingers tapped against my keyboard. “Where are you, you bastard?”

Then, a memory I didn’t realize I had played out in my mind. On the dock, Marina was crying, begging Crash to breathe while Mr. Jones performed CPR on his pale, soaked body.

I gasped through the sharp pains in my chest. Teardrops dripped onto the black keys. “Please…” Unbeknownst to me, I was missing a crucial part of the puzzle and had no skills to hunt down a murderer who didn’t want to be found.

Realizing I was not to have revenge for my brother or Crash, I flung my laptop against the wall. My trapped rage wanted blood, my heart wanted peace, my soul wanted rest, and I wanted to be free of… regret. There was so much pent up sorrow in my spirit that I needed the guilty to suffer as I did. Forgiveness nor understanding was on my mind.

Sitting in the little white chair, I wrapped shaky arms around my knees and stared at the broken laptop on the floor, wondering if Russia had an Apple store. Surrounded by gloom, frustrated tears streamed down my face. I wiped my cheek with my pajama shirt, thinking of my brother and how, no matter what I did or planned for revenge, he was never coming back. Nor was my Crash. Killing a hundred human traffickers was still going to leave me forlorn.

What is there to fight for if not for those who were lost?The answer was one I had yet to learn, but it would become a lesson I would never forget, never take for granted, again.

Sobs pushed past my lips as I cursed the world and God for taking such beautiful-hearted young men away from this earth, leaving me alone. I was still unable to recognize what God had indeed offered… until the sun rose. As a beam hit my face through the beautiful windows, it felt like a message. The message was profound and riveting as it said, “What the fuck are you doing in Russia, dumbass?”

Unexpected clarity was delivered. I had been so focused on what was gone—stolen from me—that I was oblivious to what I still had. Link’s beautiful smile shined from many years of tender memories, all at once. I clutched my chest realizing how not being near him hurt. Always had.

Then I remembered sitting with him late at night in the woods by our homes before I left. A lit candle burned between us. Link had said, “Crash told me that you loved me, you just didn’t know it. That’s why he told me to love you enough for both of us.” It was a moment I will never forget. “I do, Whit. I will always love you enough for both of us.”

Even while mourning for his brother, Link still found the strength and bravery to tell me his true feelings. He was raw and exposed… and I flew away.

In the hotel room, I covered my face with sweaty palms as I thought of Mr. Jones’ pleading eyes when I was in his office, his words now haunting me. “Giving you this picture means killing the one he plans on marrying. Link would relive any horrid event for you.”

Then Crash’s past words whispered to me, “Franky, he’s your strongest link, not your weakest.”

An urgency to return to Link had my heart pounding. Oh God, what have I done?