The Sister(203)

‘About fifty or sixty quid.’

‘Driver, can you find out who’s got her, the woman in the black tracksuit, in their cab?’

‘Okay, I’ll have a word.’

‘Tell who ever it is to stall her somewhere, until we get there. There’s fifty quid in it for them.’

Stella was impressed with his idea. A smile appeared on her face for the first time in what seemed like hours. It was short lived. She realised he’d promised her fifty pounds as the reward money.

After a few minutes of radio chatter, the driver said, ‘Okay, we got her, but you need to tell me what this is all about before we go any further with this.’

‘I’ll explain,’ Miller said.





The other driver had taken her to a nearby golf club and pulled into the car park. He popped the bonnet on pretext of checking the water. ‘The radiator, it’s just started losing water the last couple of days, getting worse.’

While he played for time, she saw the other cab approaching from behind. Quickly realising she was about to be trapped; she took off onto the golf course, and made for the cover of trees.

Miller took all the paper money from his back pocket, seventy pounds altogether and put it into the driver’s hand. ‘Sort that out between you,’ he said and ran off in hot pursuit.

‘Wait for me!’ Stella cried out after him, slowing at the edge of the car park, as she realised she couldn’t maintain his pace.

Running downhill in as straight a line as possible, he saw Kathy ahead. He was confident he’d catch her. The ground away from the fairways undulated, and he narrowly escaped falling several times as he pitched forwards through the rough grass. He slowed down.

Where on earth, does she think she’s going?

She disappeared into a grove of trees as he reached a flat and even fire road. He put the hammer down, driving his arms faster than ever; his hands came up straight, like blades slashing through the air, legs pumping harder still, desperate to narrow the gap. He ran as if his life depended on it. Clearing the trees, thirty, forty seconds behind her, he couldn’t see her.

A group of elderly golfers gathered around the shore of a lake, agitated and pointing. Someone pushed a small boat out. He yelled out to them, without breaking stride. ‘Have you seen a woman?’

‘She’s in there, gone under. She just waded in!’

He took the scene in a split second of clarity; the black water trail parted through the green chickweed to the middle, where she’d waded and then gone down. Five more paces to the bank. If he leapt hard enough, he judged he’d make it most of the way. A voice inside his head reminded him. You can’t swim!

Three, two, one – Miller took off.

It was a mighty leap, his trajectory Olympian. The flight – three beats of his pounding heart – exhilarated him. He plunged into the water, taking a last desperate gasp of air with him as he sank below the surface.

He didn’t attempt to swim, instead feeling the churn of the water around him, he opened his eyes. The water stung them closed. He couldn’t see.

Wading along below the water, the weight of his wet clothes kept him down. You don’t have long, Bruce. The gasp reflex was almost upon him.

Something brushed against his leg; he reached down, his fingers running through a tangle of hair. It’s her! As he struggled to stay calm, he inwardly thanked the Lord for all the times he’d practiced holding his breath; it was something he’d always done as a child, a habit he’d continued into adulthood. Gripping her under the arms, he launched himself upwards, dragging her; sensing the right moment, and as it came, he bent, and with the strength that desperation had brought to him, swung her upwards. The momentum forced him down. She left his arms; he felt her body surge through the water.

Although he couldn’t swim, he was strangely calm. The will to survive had taken over everything. Every pounding heartbeat reminded him he was alive. His last breath, desperately snatched breaking for the surface the third time, was stale, exhausted by his exertions, but still he held it in.

A pulse inside his temple throbbed; his ears split with pain as the pressure built; the muffled beat of his heart grew louder as he continued to sink, and the murky light above slipped further away. All thought must disappear – mu shin no shin, mu shin – empty mind, pusty umysl. His life depended on his ability to forestall the gulp reflex, to buy time against the odds in the hope of rescue.

All thought disappeared. Autopilot kicked in and at last; he was in survivor mode. Feet touched the bottom first. Knees folded; every ounce of power directed into powerful thighs. Driving up from his haunches, he surged through the water, a human missile shooting for the surface. The initial burst of acceleration died quickly. The mass of water held him down. He battled the last few inches. Getting his face out into the air, he sucked a quick shot into his lungs. It wasn’t enough.

Sinking back to the bottom for the fourth time, thoughts intruded. You should have learned to swim.

He had to save his strength for one final burst. Mu shin, no shin. Pusty umysl. All thought must disappear.

Touching the bottom again; his legs folded until his fingers touched the mud; he drove up hard for the surface, again.

Miller’s mind was empty, but his heart knew if he didn’t make it this time, he was finished. His face pushed up under the surface of the water, an inch short; he flailed his arms to get higher. His efforts in vain; the chance missed, going under again. His heart sank; he was at the limit of his conscious ability to withstand the body’s pre-programmed gulp reaction. He would take in water. Lungs burned, on fire, ready to explode. Desperately refocusing – Mu shin – It was too late. The fight was lost.