The Lion's Den(87)

I take the stairs at the end of the corridor two at a time, all the way up, up, up to the door at the top, and push it open, stepping onto a deck about the size of my apartment balcony. We must have started the trip to Italy, because we’re moving faster than usual. Or maybe it just feels that way from up here. The sky is wild and red with the setting sun, the ocean breeze refreshing as the boat cuts through the sea.

I lean over the railing and peer below. I’m on the front side of the sundeck directly above the upper deck. I can barely hear the other girls’ voices above the noise of the engine and water. I try to pick out the tone of the group, but it all blends with the sound of the motor and the water into a kind of contented, soothing murmur. I wish I could see, but I would have to lean out farther than I’m comfortable doing at this speed to spy on them.

I turn and gasp when I see Camille behind me with a glass of wine. “Sorry,” I say. “You startled me.” I take the glass, considering whether one of the goons could have somehow spiked it. “This may sound odd, but did you pour this yourself?” I ask.

She nods. “You need anything else?” she asks.

“This is perfect, thank you. Just let me know if they come looking for me.”

She nods and goes back inside. I sink into the lounger and take a tentative sniff of my wine. The wine smells fine—great, even—but I still decide the better of drinking it, just in case, and set it on the table next to my chair.

Golden cliffs rise dramatically from the sea, their peaks crowned with little villages that must have been there hundreds of years, though I can’t imagine how some of them were built. I’m not sure how long we’ve been moving at this clip, or whether we’ve reached Italy, but the coast is less crowded wherever we are. We pass a few yachts and cruise ships, but nothing like the traffic around Saint-Tropez. I lay my head back and watch the sky slowly darken.



I wake with a start to the sound of arguing. It’s dark and I’m disoriented, unsettled by a vivid dream of falling into deep water, unable to reach the surface. How long have I been asleep? I look at my empty wrist, remembering Amythest has my watch––but her phone is still in my pocket. I check the time––nearly eleven We’re still moving at a good clip, and there’s a chill on the wind. I could use a sweater.

The moonless night is lit only by the stars; I can’t see the line where the sky meets the sea. There are no boats or towns on the horizon, but I can feel the ocean heaving beneath us as we plow through the water. We must be farther out than usual, still moving quickly toward Italy.

A spike in the conversation below. Two female voices. I can only imagine it’s Amythest and…someone. Brittani or Summer, most likely. I’ve never once heard Claire raise her voice, and Wendy’s not one to argue. It could be Rhonda, but the voices sound younger. I try to make out what they’re saying, but the words are drowned out by the sound of the boat.

I edge over to the railing, straining to see below without leaning out too far. The boat pitches over the rolling sea, and I brace myself, holding tightly to the railing.

A third voice rises above the wind.

“Summer!” That, I think, is Rhonda. “Leave…not worth…” The rest is lost.

The voices quiet down. I struggle to catch another phrase or even a word, but it’s all too muffled. They must have moved to the other side of the boat. I might as well go back to the room and finish packing. I’m sure Amythest will fill me in later.

Before I can open the door, a scream rips into the silence. Just one scream, bloodcurdling. A thump, the sound of something hitting the boat, and the scream stops abruptly. I listen for anything further, but all I hear is the sound of the boat cutting through the water.

I fling open the door and dash down the stairs two at a time until I reach the crew quarters. I burst into the kitchen, where most of the crew is eating dinner.

“I heard a scream,” I cry. “I think it was on the bow side of the upper deck. And I thought I heard something hitting the boat.”

Immediately all crew members are on their feet and pushing past me, dinner abandoned. I follow on their heels, my orders to stay in my room forgotten.

“There was arguing,” I add as we cut through the empty living room, “but I’m not sure who it was.”

Half the crew splits off toward the bridge, and the rest of us race out the doors, up the spiral stairs, and around the side of the boat to the bow of the upper deck. As we come around the corner, I see a pool of dark-red liquid on the deck and gasp before I notice the remains of a shattered wineglass rolling with the pitch of the boat. It’s only red wine.

Summer, Rhonda, Brittani, Wendy, and Claire are huddled against the wall looking shell-shocked. Claire is sobbing softly into Wendy’s shoulder, while Brittani and Rhonda have their arms around Summer, crying tearlessly into her wine.

Amythest is missing.

The boat lurches forward as it slows suddenly, sending us all scrambling for something to brace against. The exterior lights go on, illuminating the inky depths below.

“What happened?” Julie asks.

The other women look at each other in stunned silence before anyone speaks.

“Amythest…she…just fell in,” Rhonda finally says.

Julie speaks into her headset. “Man overboard.” Then, urgently to Rhonda, “Where? How long ago?”