Gray's Domain: Purgatorium Series, Book Two (19 page)

“I’m sorry.” She walked over to him and kissed the top of his head. “Please don’t worry. I’ll make sure they’re safe.”

Then, without thinking twice about it, she climbed up on his bench, stepped over the edge, and flung herself into the sea.

Chapter Fifteen: Lost

Daphne floundered in the cold water, held aloft by the life vest. The waves were more turbulent out here on the edge of the harbor than she had anticipated, and at times, when she was at the bottom of a large swell, the boat was out of sight. Then the swell lifted her high, and the boat came into view long enough for her to see people pointing at her. The swells were such an unexpected threat, that Daphne’s eyes strained with terror as she floundered with indecision. Should she take the buoy the captain had thrown out to her and go back with her father?

In those few moments of indecision, she lost sight of the buoy. The choice had been made for her. She would return to the island. It felt like the right thing to do, anyway. She had to save her brother.

Voices called to her, Giovanni’s and her father’s among them. She ignored them, scrambled out of the vest, grabbed a big gulp of air, and submerged as far under water as she could.

When she ran out of air, she resurfaced, took another breath quickly, and submerged, hoping to avoid being spotted by the people aboard the catamaran. Her mother and Brock didn’t know what Daphne knew about Dr. Gray’s techniques—about the surveillance room, the real bullets, the one rule that couldn’t be broken, and the pretend ghosts on the west side of the island. Daphne had to stay and keep her mother and Brock from being manipulated by Prospero and her Calibans. She had to protect Joey.

Even Gregory had been afraid of his mother.

Without a mask, she couldn’t see how deep the water was, nor could she tell if she was going in the right direction. She popped back up for air and looked around. The waves were high, and she could not see over them long enough to get her bearings. The morning sun was her only compass. She took another breath and went under, swimming away from the sun to the west.

The cold water numbed the soreness deep in her broken arm, but, in spite of that relief, she was running out of breath. She popped back up to the surface and rolled onto her back, sucking in air as best she could when the waves weren’t throwing more water into her mouth and gagging her. She tried to ignore the thoughts of sharks and other sea creatures circling beneath her in water that could be quite deep—a scary deep. She shuddered at the image forming in her mind of her small body floating hundreds of feet above teeming predators. She’d seen Humpback whales out this way. One could be near her now! Tears pricked her eyes, and she clambered beneath the surface to take a look.

The blare of a horn brought her back to the surface, but she still couldn’t see over the swells. A part of her wanted to swim toward what might be the coastguard looking for her, but another part of her believed she was the only one who could save her mother, Brock, and Joey. She gulped in air and submerged and searched for signs of the island. Spotting a rock underwater, she swam toward it. Although she was disappointed to find it was just a lone rock, she did get a glimpse of the ocean floor. She estimated the depth to be about twelve to fifteen feet, and this was comforting to her. She popped back up to the surface for air.

When she reached the crest of a huge swell, she saw the island. Joy burst through her as she recognized Mount Diablo reaching up toward the now blaring sun. But the island was east of her. This meant the current was flowing in the opposite direction out here than it had near the shoreline and had made her overshoot her target. So she changed course, swimming toward the sun, glad to have her bearings.

She heard another horn but this time gave no thought to swimming toward it. From the crest of the waves, she could see the island. Still too far west of it, if she didn’t make better progress, she might drift south of it and miss it altogether. She scrambled, in full-blown panic, huffing and puffing along the surface in a one-arm free-style.

Dear God
, she begged.
Get me on that island, please!

How ironic, she thought. One minute she’s praying to get off the island, and the next she’s praying to get back on it. As she floundered through the water, she looked below
her and was shocked at the sight of a barracuda floating quite still just a few feet below her. She thrashed against the water and backed away from it as fast as she could, keeping her eyes on the silver beast with its ugly under-bite full of teeth.

Before she had gotten very far, her back hit up against something hard. At first, she thought she’d been hit by a boat. She flailed and floundered, scraping herself as she turned to see what had hit her. Then the current bashed her against what she now realized was solid rock. The skin on her knee and one good elbow stung as she tried to push against the huge rock in front of her. But the current pushed her ruthlessly into it, and she tumbled over it, and now headfirst, directly into another one, knocking her out cold.

***

Her face and scalp burned. Her skin hurt all over. She was both cold and hot. Kara had just been singing to her, but when she opened her eyes, Daphne was alone.

She scrambled to her knees. She was on a hot, dry rock surrounded by water. She had no idea how long she’d been out, but the tide was down and the sun was high—maybe at high noon. More rocks towered above her. She hoped beyond hope that she had reached the island and that she would find it on the other side of these rocks. Now, if she could only muster the energy to go on.

The sound of a helicopter somewhere above perked her up. She couldn’t see it, but the sound made her think of
Joey. She dipped back into knee-deep water, found her footing on the rocks, and climbed her way to dry land.

She gritted her teeth as the pain in her arm returned now that it was no longer numb from the cold water. Along with that pain was her stinging skin, burned by the sun and scraped by the rocks. The worst, though, was her unprotected head, which throbbed and was tender to the touch, especially on the left side above her eye, where it must have hit the rock. And although her clothes were dry, her sneakers squished beneath her as she climbed, and they rubbed unrelentingly against the backs of her heels.

A group of gulls appeared above her, and their song lifted her spirits as she climbed the rocks toward the top. With only one arm, it was slow going. Her driving force was Joey. She couldn’t let Hortense Gray abuse her brother. He was too vulnerable, too weak. He wouldn’t be able to take the harsh fear tactics of the doctor’s experimental therapy. Hell, Daphne couldn’t take it. She was so tired that she began to cry tears of self-pity. No one should have to go through the hell she’d endured.

When she finally reached the top, she found herself in unfamiliar territory. The rocks gave way to high grass. Hoping this was indeed the right island, she trudged on.

Her stomach growled and her dry mouth and throat longed for fresh water, but soon she was cheered by a sign that read, “Fraser’s Point.” Although she still wasn’t sure it was the right island, the sign filled her with hope. That hope was further kindled when she came upon a trail that cut through the high grass. She followed it. About thirty minutes later she came upon a picnic table beneath a scraggily tree. The shade wasn’t much, but it was something. She practically fell onto the table and lay down on her good side wanting nothing more than a drink of fresh water. A pillow and soft bed would be nice, but she’d settle for a drink. Even a sip.

As she lay there, she wondered what the heck she had done, leaping off a boat in the high sea. She had only been thinking of the ones she loved and of her urgent need to save them. She hadn’t thought of the possibility that she might drown, or get eaten by sharks, or get bashed into rocks, or miss the island completely. She had wanted to save her family.

Right then and there, she prayed with all her might that she was on the right island and that all the pain and terror she had just experienced hadn’t been in vain.

She might have fallen asleep, lying there in the shade (with the cool breeze offering some relief to her poor skin), had anxiety for her father and what he must be going through not jerked her up from the table. How could she lie here and rest when he was probably terrified that he had lost another child? She staggered off the table and trudged onward.

As she walked, she fought to ignore the chafing between her thighs and the rubbing against the backs of her heels and the overwhelming thirst. Although she could block those things from her mind for short periods, she could not stop thinking about her parents and Brock and Joey. She wished she could get messages to them. She’d tell her father she was alive, and she’d tell the others to trust nothing that came from the mouth of Dr. Hortense Gray. She had to get to her mom and Brock and Joey and then help them all to get away from this hell as soon as possible.

After at least another hour of baking in the sun, Daphne came upon a sign that read, “Black Point.” But it was the sign beneath it that made her jump for joy: “Christy Ranch, One mile.”

She wanted to kiss the ground. Instead, she half-skipped toward Christy Ranch.

The extra skip in her step didn’t last long. A mile was a long way with no protection from the sun, a broken arm, open cuts and bruises, squishy shoes, heel blisters, and chafing between the thighs. By the time the farmhouse came into view, she felt like one of the walking dead.

Chapter Sixteen: Awakened

Daphne tried the front door of the farmhouse and found it unlocked. Her heart pounded against her tired ribs as she pushed the door open. She reminded herself that she wanted to be found—had to be in order to save the others. As soon as she stepped inside, Marty noticed her from where he was sitting on the sofa watching the large monitor.

“Young lady!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “My goodness!”

“Water,” she said through parched lips.

He scrambled to the refrigerator and brought her a cold plastic bottle of water, opening it for her and lifting it to her lips.

She drank it ravenously, enjoying the sensation on her dry throat. He helped her to a chair at the table and brought her more food and water, all the while asking her what had happened to her.

“Oh my goodness! You’re on fire,” he cried after putting his hand to her forehead. He set to work bringing out food, and then he laid a cold, wet rag over her scalp.

She couldn’t speak. All she wanted was water and grapes and a bit of bread. As she ate and drank at the kitchen table, Marty left her alone for a few minutes.

When he returned, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and said, “I have something that will make you feel better.”

Before she could do anything about it, he plunged a needle and syringe into the side of her broken arm. She gawked at him and, within seconds, felt woozy. She closed her eyes and collapsed.

***

Kara had just been singing to her as Daphne blinked her eyes against the bright lights. In a few moments, she recognized the room of the infirmary where her father had been the night they’d made their escape. An IV was attached to her left hand, which was peeling from her sunburn. In fact, her entire left arm was covered in tiny flakes of dead skin, except for places where dark scabs covered her flesh. They itched to be scratched, but her right arm was in a cast, and only her fingers were visible. She tried to wriggle them. It hurt, but she could move them. With her left hand, she lifted the sheet to find she was wearing a clean hospital gown. She wondered how long she’d been out.
At least a few days, from the look of things.

She lifted her good hand to her head, which itched like crazy, and was surprised to feel soft, thick hair, at least a quarter inch long, covering her head. This alarmed her. She’d been out for more than a few days.

A snort across the room made her turn her head. Slumped on a couch against the wall, snoring, was Brock. The corners of her mouth spread wide as relief swept over her.

“Brock,” she said, surprised by the crack in her own voice. “Brock, wake up.”

He jerked awake and sat up. “Daphne. My God, you’re awake.”

“
Where’s Mom and Joey? And have you heard from my dad at all?”

He crossed the room to her side and sat in a wooden chair next to the bed. “Everybody is okay. We’re all fine.”

She bent her brows. “Where are they?”

“Everyone’s here.”

“Even my dad?”

Brock nodded. “After the coastguard didn’t find you, he sent the police as soon as he landed in Ventura.”

“Has Dr. Gray been arrested then?” Hope spread across her face.

“No.” Brock frowned, and so did she. “The police didn’t find anything.”

Daphne sat all the way up in the bed. Pain rushed to her forehead. “What? Didn’t you and my mom…”