Page 44 of A Princess, Stolen
“Or her cell?” Taurus added, and the bull on his forehead seemed to jump at me.
Nathan glanced at both of them. “She can’t do anything on the bridge,” he replied before saying to me gruffly, “Sit back there and stay quiet!” I now understood that the more men there were around us, the colder his tone became toward me.
I did as he said and squeezed myself into the furthest corner where there were no consoles, machines, or other devices flashing. I stared out with my eyes wide open.
The world behind the large portholes was a mixture of gray and black. The storm wind chased the clouds across the sky, dark gray, thick, and heavy.
On the narrow emergency seat, I pulled my legs up to my body, wrapped one arm around myself, and with the other, I held on to a bar on the wall. Repeatedly, I peered outside and then inside and back again.
In front of the helm, Nathan was talking to Troy and Sparta. Their voices sounded worried, which made me evenmore nervous. I froze and closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, Sparta was holding the helm. Pan, Troy, and Taurus were standing at the control console or the rudders. I had no idea which device was responsible for what here. Everyone was suddenly wearing life jackets including Nathan, who held out a bucket to me with a nod.
I said nothing as I pushed his arm away.
Nathan put it next to my seating area. “Believe me, you’ll need it.”
“But I’m not feeling sick.”
“Not yet.” He went to a box and came back with an orange vest. “Put it on!”
I did as ordered and he explained to me what I had to do in an emergency. Nonetheless, I was afraid that even the life jacket wouldn’t help us in a heavy storm. A cutter like this could just drag you down into the depths.
However, I have to get home safely, if only for Dad’s sake. Apprehensive, I breathed on the pane and painted a picture on the fogged-up window, which made Pan look over at me suspiciously.
“What you drawing? A witch spell?” There was a bit of fun in his words but also distrust.
I merely shook my head. My fingers were shaking. I was painting waves. Dad had often said that my drawings left him with a question mark, but pictures should evoke feelings. I had often painted the ocean alongside the swamp, and the ocean was just one question.What happened back then and why did I forget?
I tried desperately not to think about Mom or the nightmares that continued to haunt me, in which I was dragged down to the bottom of the sea where I drowned. I couldn’t go completely crazy now, but fate was not kind to me.
The wind picked up. It howled over the bow, tugged at the bridge, and whipped the rain against the windows. The rickety windshield wiper looked as if it was about to break off and fly away.
A short time later, a burst of activity broke out. The men shouted values or courses to each other, orders for the rudders, but I didn’t understand any of it. They might as well have been speaking Urdu.
I was growing colder and colder. My ears were closing and everything sounded far off. I glanced out again at the raging sea. Whitecaps blew over the crests of the waves. If I squinted a little, they looked like the fluttering fabric of a white dress forgotten in the wind.
“Darling?”
Who said that?
“Darling!”
I stared ahead. Sea, clouds, and spray increasingly blurred into an indefinable surface. A surface like a canvas, saturated with memories. Mom looked at me from outside.
She looks straight at me. As if she wants to tell me something.
I blinked.
Her eyes are suddenly like barn doors of terror, and suddenly, I see much more than just her eyes. I see the Voyageur II, Dad’s smallest yacht. Our last trip as a trio.
Mom and I are on the sun deck and Mom jumps up from her lounge chair and screams, “Oh my God, it’s on fire!” I turn in the direction she’s looking. Dark smoke is pushing out of the door to the yacht’s large living area like an evil fogman.
“Nicholas!” she shouts.
I start to scream. “Dad! Daddy!” I want to run to him, but Mom holds me back. Heat spreads across my skin and then Dademerges from the door, a wet sleeve pressed to his mouth and nose.
“Up!” In a panic, he pulls me up the steps to the highest deck. Mom follows. “Where are the life jackets? Where’s the fire extinguisher?” she screams. Over and over. After that, there’s just a dark hole of black, stifling smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic. Mom runs back and forth across the deck, runs back down to search for the fire extinguisher and life jackets, but comes directly back because everything is on fire.
“We have to jump!” I hear Dad shout.
