She Wakes by Jack Ketchum Read Free Book Online Page B

water. If there was struggle at all it was only for more of what was good-more comfort, more wine, more long cool nights.
        Even the smokes are good, he thought. They’d make you cough like hell in the long run-they were strong-but the sinuses drained. You could breathe with them.
        He lit one. Smoke drifted.
        They swam later and the sea was calm. He watched her dive and surface, the water rolling off her oiled naked body. She was beautiful. She swam and you could see the strength hidden in the slim graceful body, the strong shoulder muscles, the thighs, the long slender arms.
        He couldn’t keep up with her. He didn’t try.
        He lay back at the tideline and let the waves curl over his ankles and watched her.
         She's a little strange, he thought. So what. Maybe she’d get the message now that games were out for him. He hoped so.
        Seawater stung his eyes, trickling from his hair. He wiped them as he watched her dive again.
         Time to towel off, he thought. He got up and walked to the wicker mats. Behind him he heard her splashing. She swims like a seal does, he thought. Mostly underwater. He dried his hair. He brushed the sand off his legs and sat down on the mat.
        At first he couldn’t see her. There was too much glare off the water.
        Then he did.
        And it felt as though his heart had stopped for a moment.
        She was floating.
        She floated faceup, buoyant with the high salt content of the water, calves and forearms dangling limp, arms and legs spread wide so that the waves lapped over them and tossed her gently. Her head lay back, the hair completely under, completely submerged. And for a moment he thought, Dead. She's dead. My god, she’s drowned herself. How long have I not been watching?
        Long enough.
        He got to his feet. Impossible, he thought.
        And then thought, no, it’s not.
        He started forward, moving fast. Then stopped.
        He saw her left hand rise and brush a long dark lock of hair off her cheek.
        It made him laugh. It wasn’t pleasant laughter.
        He stood there feeling foolish and relieved, feeling his heartbeat slow, the blood in his face recede. Dodgson, he thought, you’re an ass. He kicked at the sand in front of him. He watched her.
        Now that he knew she was okay it was very sexy, what she was doing out there. Very sexy indeed. The languor. The wide-open spread to the arms and legs-he could see the waves lap gently at her pubic hair. It glistened in the sun. She wore a look of submission to the elements, to the air and water. He could see her body rise and fall as she breathed, lungs and liquids keeping the heavy bones afloat. And he imagined what it felt like-the air wanning her upper body, buttocks, legs and genitals colder, caressed by the cold as the body sank and rose and sank again.
        He remembered what they called it now.
        Dead man’s float. Or was that face down?
        It was just a little too apt though and for a moment it frightened him again. He thought of Margot in a tubfull of bloody water.
        He looked at her and couldn't help it-he pictured her dead.
        Lelia dead.
        Sickeningly, the sight of her still aroused him.
         You’re crazy, he thought.
        She turned in the water and saw him watching, got to her feet and came splashing out to him on a run. He must have showed, though. Because she stopped then in front of him and said, “What? What’s the matter?”
        “Nothing.”
        “Come on. What?”
        She stared at him and then smiled. Comprehension lit her face. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”
        “A little. For a second there.”
        She laughed. “You fool. That’s wonderful!”
        “You think so?”
        “Of course I do.” She touched his face. Her hand was cold and wet, clammy.
        “You thought I’d drowned