Page 74 of No One Aboard
Nico hung back, out of frame. “Can we toss it back now, sir?” he asked.
“You kidding, kid? We’re having this sucker for dinner.” Francis waved at Alejandro, who headed to midships and came back with a mallet.
Rylan turned his head, bile rising in his throat.
“Really, Francis? A hammer?” Lila fanned herself.
“It’s how it’s done, Lil.” Francis took the mallet from Alejandro, then turned and held it out. To Rylan. “Go on, son. I just need a couple strong hits.”
Rylan’s voice failed him. He shook his head.
Francis licked his lips and stepped forward, sweat gleaming from his brow. “The longer you hesitate, the longer it suffers. You want to call yourself a Cameron?”
He didn’t. Not after this year. Not if it meant this. Rylan backed up, but he was against the railing. If only he and the fish could jump overboard together and swim far, far away.
“Dad, cut it out,” Tia barked, but Francis didn’t even spare her a glance. He held the mallet between himself and Rylan.
“I’ll do it, Mr. Cameron.” Nico stepped forward.
Alejandro caught his arm. Had they been planning this?
Rylan sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to reach his lungs. Behind Francis, the sailfish flopped, its strength sapping.
“Come on, Rylan,” Lila begged him. “It’s just a fish.”
“This is what it takes to survive at sea,” Francis lectured, asif they didn’t have weeks’ worth of food stored belowdecks. As if he had ever had to survive at sea. “You either put it out of its misery or it dies gasping for air.”
Like MJ.
But Rylan couldn’t move. His hands did not obey.I’m sorry, he said to the fish.I can’t do it...
“Rylan! Get down here, quickly!”
He was back in their home in Palm Beach.
His father sounded urgent. Something must be wrong. Rylan raced down the stairs. Francis was in the kitchen holding a cheese knife over the marble countertop, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow.
“What’s going on?” Rylan looked around in confusion. Lila was reading a Jenna Fischer novel at the table. She hadn’t even looked up.
“Think fast,” Francis advised. Like a father says when he throws his son a football. Not when he plunges a cheese knife through a flap of skin in his own arm.
Francis dropped the mallet without warning, and it banged on the deck. Rylan flinched.
“What is wrong with you?” Francis spat and walked away, taking the helm from Tia and letting the sailfish flap and fight for every last second. That fish had more fight than Rylan ever had.
It happened in an instant. Tia left the wheel and scooped up the mallet. She shoved past Alejandro and raised it in the air with all her might, then brought it down.
Whack.
Rylan jumped and smacked his hands over his eyes.
Whack.
The sound of the thrashing stopped. Their mother gasped.
Whack.
When he dared look back, Tia was standing over the fish, its skull caved in with three clean hits. Blood streamed over the cockpit, flecks spattered on his sister’s legs and hands. Francis,who was supposed to be steering, was watching her, stunned. Tia walked right up to him, fish blood pooling around her bare feet.
