Unlawful Chase by C.J. Schnier (new books to read .TXT) 📗

"It worked, didn't it?" she asked.

The immediate debilitating pain was ebbing, but I knew from experience the ache would be with me for a while. As the pain subsided, I realized my predicament. She was back in control.

"You know, I'm not one to complain, but I think I preferred being on top," I said as I tested her grip on my hands.

She rolled her eyes. "Men." She said it with annoyance, though I thought I detected a hint of something else in her tone. It was a challenge.

Using the opportunity, I kicked hard against her, bucking her up in the air as I used all my strength to tear free from her hold and push her off of me. She landed on her hands and knees. We both struggled to our feet, facing off once again.

"So, you've still got some fight in you, I see," she taunted, her eyes gleaming, now enjoying the challenge.

"If I let you win so easily, how would you ever respect me in the morning?" I quipped back.

"Quit talking and attack me," she said, beckoning me forward.

"I was taught not to hit women," I started, "but if you insist..."

I knew it was a trap. I knew I was playing into her plan. But I was confident I could overpower her if needed, and I hoped with the banter we had been exchanging, she would be distracted. What I hadn't factored into my attack was her excellent unarmed combat skills.

I threw a jab and hit nothing but air. She ducked to her left and counterattacked. I knew what was coming before she executed the move, but was powerless to stop it. Using my momentum, she grabbed my wrist like she had done in the villa, ducked under my arm as she pivoted, and once again threw me over her shoulder. This time I didn't come crashing down on the hard rock floor. I hit nothing and fell farther and farther.

Damn! That woman really knows how to fight, was the last thought that went through my mind before I hit the water seventy feet later.

CHAPTER TEN

The water broke like concrete under me, and the shock of hitting the frigid liquid stole my breath. It was as if a thousand knives made of ice were stabbing me repeatedly as I slipped underneath the surface.

With the air knocked out of my lungs, I sank farther and farther. I watched the light spilling in from the sinkhole as it danced on the surface of the water. It was mesmerizing, and I considered watching it longer while letting myself sink deeper, allowing the chilly waters to take me.

The desire to give up was strong. What did I have left to live for? There was no love in my life, I had been going through the motions since Kelly had died. My passion for life, sailing, and the sea had all but gone. There was no point in going on. And so I let myself sink so more.

Flashes of my past raced through my mind. Learning to sail on Lake Murray. Lazy days with my friends at college. Buying my first boat. And when I had met Kelly. Kelly was always on my mind. Memory after memory stampeded through my head and I shut my eyes, but could not escape her.

I saw her clearly, as if she was right there with me, sinking into the abyss. Her dark hair flowing behind her as she sank. On her face she wore a sardonic smile, a picture of amusement and pity. She followed me down, hand outstretched towards me. I reached out for her, comforted now by her presence. Finally. I would have some peace from the pain I had carried for the last year.

Our fingers touched, and the spell was broken. Kelly was gone, and all that remained were the icy waters and the sunlight playing on the ripples. As if it were a parting gift, I heard her voice then, one solitary word that pierced me like an arrow. "Live." And then there was silence.

Live. That one word snapped me out of my trance and reinvigorated me. I kicked, driving myself upwards, fighting the pull of gravity against my soaked clothes and shoes. It surprised me how far I had sunk. I would have to fight to regain the surface in time.

I forced myself to remain calm as my lungs screamed for air. Typically, when freediving, I would have let the specialized fins do most of the work, but my shoe-clad feet were now all but useless. Instead, I streamlined my body as much as possible and used a slow and methodical swimming stroke, allowing me the most progress with the least amount of spent energy.

My body was already depleted of oxygen from the exertions of the fight, and the fall had driven any reserves from my lungs. The spasms had already begun. My diaphragm heaved, urging me upwards. Still, I kept my pace. Any more effort would just use up oxygen much faster.

The world closed in, narrowing my vision as the surface came closer and a feeling of euphoria crept in. That isn't good, I thought to myself from somewhere deep in the subconscious realms of my mind. I had to keep it together; the surface was so close.

The blackness was almost complete when my head broke through the water. But no desperate gulp of air followed. My lungs did not want to work, and I had to consciously force myself to inhale. This was a phenomenon common to free divers, one of the many reasons it was such a dangerous sport, especially alone. The feeling of panic is hard to control, however, and with each passing second I came closer to a blackout and drowning. Finally, cool air rushed into my empty lungs. There are few things sweeter than the first breath of air when you've pushed your body to the limit.

I made myself take slow, even breaths instead