Kin (Annabelle's Story Part Two) (12 page)

“So I could get locked inside?”

Adrian looked straight ahead as he answered, I was left staring at the side of his face. “Yes.”

I didn’t have a response. Of course this new information worried me, but I needed to push it aside—for now.

Fortunately, we were mere strokes away from Chelsea Harbour.

Adrian turned his head toward me this time as he spoke. “After you break the surface, I’m going to meet up with Natasha and Maddox.”

Panic ensued. “What?! You aren’t waiting for me?”

“I can’t. I have to go help the others.” He quickly continued, “I promise you that someone will be right here waiting for you to bring you to us.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe Clemente. I’m sorry, Belles. I’m figuring things out as I go along.”

I pulled my hair into a ponytail and twisted it into a tight knot. The familiarity of this action helped to calm my nerves. This wasn’t the time to act like a child. Instead, I released my hair, the water catching each strand. I then bobbed my head in agreement and tried for a fake smile.

“Okay, I’ll be fine. That sounds fine.”

Squaring my shoulders to his, he pulled me into an embrace. “You’re right. Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, then it’s not the end, right?”

This time a real smile spread across my face.

“Adrian, you keep quoting things.”

He chuckled. “What do you mean?”

“First you said, ‘Everything happens for a reason.’ And just now, you quoted again.”

“Well, how bout this? I’ve got another one of those human sayings for you.”

“Oh yeah? Let’s hear it.”

“All you need is love.”

My mind instinctively finished the beat and my smile deepened.

“And, Belles, I do. I love you.”

It was the second time in a matter of minutes that I couldn’t muster a response.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

For someone who’d done ample amounts of self-reflection and thinking over the past week, I didn’t want to do any more.

I couldn’t afford to doubt myself, to fear for Lindsey, to feel pangs of guilt over abandoning the prophecy, or to have an aching in my heart for how I left things with Adrian.

After he proclaimed his feelings like a love struck puppy, I acted like a tight-lipped moron.

He reassured me that it was fine, that I didn’t need to say it back. He knew he caught me off guard. The hurt in his eyes told a different story though.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care for him. It just… with all the recent craziness in my life, I wasn’t ready to speak the three words that’d unleash another change into motion⎯even if it was a wonderful one.

Instead, I let him pull me toward his chest to smother our awkward moment. Our foreheads came to rest against another as he told me one last time to be safe.

We remained motionless in the water for a moment or two before he backed away, telling me I needed to go.

My hesitation allowed for the tension to build again. My hand shot out toward him, then dropped. I raised it again but he’d moved further out of reach.

This time, my hand rested on the necklace he’d given me. It had become a place of reassurance I sought time and time again.

“Bye, Adrian,” I managed. “I’ll see you soon.”

He didn’t say bye. A half smile was all he offered me before turning away.

Now I kicked myself. But I needed to be strong. It wasn’t the time to scrutinize the decisions I’d recently made. My focus could be on one thing and one thing only. Right now, my sister.

As I neared the surface, the falling rain left dimples in the water. It reminded me of the times my sister and I swam in the midst of a rainstorm. We loved holding ourselves along the bottom of the pool and looking up at the tiny imprints.

This time, I was all alone.

Holding my breath, I poked my head into the cool air to meet the raindrops. After a few moments I released my depleting lungs then took in a mouthful of fresh air. I was told it made the transition easier when going from sea to land.

The barrage of raindrops dwarfed the sounds of the boats rocking against the pier. The good news, it was still dark. The bad news was this made it harder to see, especially with the current downpour. As I wiped my eyes clear, the nearest pier was barely visible.

Without wasting any time, I swam arm over arm toward it. The dark wood glistened from the lights of the dock illuminating the rain. Along the far side, rows of yachts were the culprit of the initial thumping sounds.

I grabbed the first rung of the ladder and yanked myself up. My muscles ached; acting as a reminder of the hell I put my body through climbing that damn cliff. Before dragging my legs onto the pier, I scoured the area. My puffs of breath in the frigid air revealed the only sign of life.

A young girl emerging from the water in the wee hours of the morning would most likely turn some heads. Not to mention, I wore a skintight bodysuit. Here I suppose it could have looked like a wet suit. On land, people would question my choice of attire.

With the coast clear, I slowly stepped onto the dock and pulled off my flippers, making sure to remain in a hunched position. From there, I continued to scan the harbor. None of the nearby boats had outside lights flicked on. I took this as a cue that no one was home. Or at least I hoped so as I darted to the nearest one.

This particular yacht was huge. A clean, white deck opened to a row of windows and a sliding glass door that beckoned to me. The next level held another deck with stairs that led to yet another level, disappearing into the darkness.

As I softly padded across the dock toward the yacht, I imagined what it’d be like to spend the day on one of these, out there in the open sea, for once not under the water.

As quiet as possible I lowered myself onto the deck of the boat. In my bare feet, I tiptoed toward the door, my heart pounding each step of the way. Of course, my tug on the handle was met with resistance and wouldn’t budge.

After a slow, deliberate exhale, I peered over my shoulder, and then to either side while contemplating my next move.

Not a soul in sight.

The will to get to my sister drove my actions as I raised the backside of my flipper and crashed it into the door.

The sound of shattering glass mixed with the thuds of the rain hitting the deck. The clamor of the falling glass was fleeting, a split second, but as I stood there frozen in place⎯not even breathing⎯it felt like an eternity,.

I was certain that any second the owner of the yacht would come charging from inside or that a security guard would seize me from behind. My mission to save my sister would be over before it even began.

Fortunately, no such things happened. In fact, all I heard was the falling rain. It acted as the only invitation I needed to reach my hand through the hole to release the lock. Without any hesitation, I pulled the door to the left then stepped inside.

The musty smell that greeted me was a positive sign. Still, I didn’t dare turn on the lights. I had a game plan in mind. As fast as possible, I stepped through the room navigating blindly in the dark around a couch and chairs. Glancing to my right, my mind registered the outline of the kitchen then went into overdrive at the sight of the red numbers blinking from the microwave.

Nearly seven o’clock.

If London was anything like home, the sun would be rising soon.

Cursing myself for taking the time to break into the yacht, I pressed forward into a hallway. I quickened my pace as I walked forward with my right hand on the wall. As soon as my fingertips brushed against a wooden door, I dropped my hand to try the handle. The door silently pushed open.

I knew I had to hurry and risked flicking on the light now that I was deeper into the boat. The brightness stung my pupils as they adjusted to the overhead light. Then I saw what I came for: a closet with the door slightly a jarred. I ripped the door open the remainder of the way and threw my hands into the hanging clothes. I pushed one polo shirt then another aside until I came across a dress.

I yanked it from the hanger and threw it over my body. It concealed the majority of my bodysuit. The dress still allowed for my arms and legs to be slightly exposed but I figured it was better than nothing. I wasn’t about to waste any more time rifling through this stranger’s wardrobe. Before turning to leave, my eyes caught a small tote bag on an upper shelf. Grabbing it, I shoved my flippers inside.

Mission accomplished. Now people wouldn’t stop and stare at the girl in a “wet suit” carrying flippers. They’d only gawk at the girl wearing a lightweight dress in frigid temperatures.

In a matter of seconds, I fled back toward the sliding glass door. The light from the bedroom helped to illuminate my path through the living room saving me precious seconds.

As I stepped back into the pouring rain, I couldn’t help one last moment of self-reflection. My free hand rubbed over my face as I drifted back in time. Never once in school had I suffered through detention. I rarely found myself in trouble. It just wasn’t my thing.

In a twenty-four hour period my rap sheet consisted of murder, breaking and entering, and burglary.

I really hoped the ends justified the means.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Racing away from the yacht helped to clear my head…

Lindsey. I just had to get to Lindsey

… momentarily.

Problem was, at the end of the dock, the red dot on the security cameras taunted me. My deviances would be all caught on tape. Shattering glass and all. Thankfully I wouldn’t be in London long… or at least that was the plan.

I left the feeling of remorse and the glaring red dot behind.

And fortunately, finding the way to the train was easier than expected. A sign at the harbor’s entrance pointed in the direction of the Imperial Wharf Rail Station.

I remembered it being close, but the fact the station was a block or two away overjoyed me, another layer of guilt left behind. After cutting across the street, I ran up the sidewalk, stopping at the base of the stairs that led to the train platform.

Here, I saw a map printed on the wall. I threw myself at it to locate Hampton Court Palace. More specifically, Bushy Park where Arethusa was on display. Thanks to my good sense of direction, I spotted it with ease. Dragging my finger down, Hampton Court was the nearest station. From there, I ran my finger along the map to find the best route.

I cursed when I saw I’d need to transfer trains. As I shook my head and drummed my fingers against my dress, my eyes frantically darted over the map to find an easier route.

A moment later, the sound of the approaching train broke my concentration. I had no choice. Grabbing my bag, I took the stairs two at a time and sprinted across the empty landing toward the train.

Slipping through the door, I grabbed the first seat I saw and slumped as low as I possibly could. I prayed that no one would ask me for a ticket. I didn’t have any money and I kicked myself for not looking for any while on the yacht.

I fingered the olive tree leaf around my neck each second of the two-station trip toward Clapham Junction. As the train slowed to a stop, an older man in a trench coat shuffled past. Literally on his coattails, I followed him down the aisle then onto the covered platform.

The first leg of my trip took all of four minutes. Unfortunately, the schedule on the platform informed me the next southwest train toward Hampton Court wouldn’t be arriving for another eighteen minutes. That was seventeen minutes and fifty-nine seconds more than I was willing to spare, especially after I picked up a newspaper in an attempt to distract myself from the second hand on the clock across the platform.

Right at the top of the front page the forecast for the day taunted me. The fact that it was going to rain sporadically and reach a high of one degree Celsius didn’t worry me. The thought of a chilly thirty-three degrees made me want to shiver in my thin layer of clothes, but nope, didn’t worry me.

It was the fact that the paper said the sunrise would occur at seven fifty-six. That was what sent a chill throughout my bones. The ransom note had said:
Arethusa Fountain. Daybreak.

And that damn second hand just crept passed the twelve, indicating another minute passed. It was now ten after seven.

My mind quickly did the math. Sixteen more minutes here. Twenty-nine minutes on the train. That put me at seven fifty-five. One minute before the sun would make its debut. Problem was, the train station was half a mile from the fountain. Those feelings of “road rage” boiled again inside. I’d never make it in time.

“Aren’t you cold?” I heard from behind me.

Ugh.

Last thing I wanted was to make small talk. But to make my parents proud, I smiled meekly toward the older lady bundled in her down coat, scarf, and dripping umbrella. “Oh, I’m okay.”

“You should have more clothing. It’s rather parky. It’s early yet as well.”

I nodded. Turning away, I stared into the tracks and tried to pick out individual drops in the slowing rain.

“Does your mum know you are here?”

Gritting my teeth, I reminded myself that I was not a brat. “Yes,” I lied. “Just meeting my sister.”

She looked at me over her wire-rimmed glasses, examining my outfit, my soaking hair, and bare feet. She clearly did not find any truth in my words. Frankly, I wanted to tell her to bugger off. There was some British slang for her.

After she scrutinized my overall disheveled appearance, she made a noise that can only be described as a “hmpth” and walked further down the platform.

Good riddance
, I responded, in silence.

I spared another glance at the clock: thirteen more minutes. I spent the remainder of the time shifting my weight from one foot to the other and staring at the sign across the tracks.

Welcome to Clapham Station. Britain’s busiest railway station.

Not today. Since it was New Year’s Day there weren’t many people out and about, especially at this early hour. Which meant, fewer chances of people giving me sideways glances. Still, my tally had reached double digits in the last few minutes of my wait.