Hide & Seek - James Patterson [41]
“Aye, aye.”
I wrestled with, the steering wheel while Patrick reefed the mainsail. The pull was still too heavy at the helm. Patrick decided to change to a smaller storm jib from the sail locker. As a last resort, he’d take the jib down and motor back to Manhasset.
Then the storm hit! A chilling fog curved around the high-peaked sailboat, and rain poured down, soaking us. The wind howled. Seawater splashed across the deck like a flash flood. The frightening power and force of nature were in evidence everywhere.
My hand slipped on the wheel, and I had to fight to keep us on course. There was an exhilaration in the action, but beneath it, like a coiled snake ready to strike, fear had begun to lurk. This wasn’t fun anymore.
Patrick cursed loudly, then he really cursed. He ran, slipping and sliding, to where a loosened sail flapped like a wet bed sheet.
He seemed to hesitate as he reached the sail, and drag his left leg. That was the impression I had, of his leg dragging.
He paused, as if he’d forgotten something, then fell to his knees, as though someone had hit him on the back of his head.
“Patrick!” I called out.
He tried to stand. I saw him raise his hand to his chest. Then he collapsed.
“Patrick!”
I rushed across the slippery deck to his side. His face was as white as the mainsail, and his breathing was irregular. He lay on his side, and winced in pain as I moved him onto his back. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. A tight fist clenched in the pit of my stomach.
I found wool blankets and a strip of greenish trap. I covered Patrick as well as I could. I took his hand in mine. I was having trouble focusing my eyes.
“You went away,” he whispered. “Please don’t do it again. Let me look at you, Maggie.”
I tried to keep his body quiet as waves rolled over us, soaking us.
“I’m here. And don’t you go away either. Everything will be fine. You’re going to be all right.”
I believed it, at least part of me did, but the fear-snake inside me uncoiled, and I had to turn my face away so he wouldn’t see it. Then I looked back at him.
Patrick’s face had turned an ashen gray. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead and upper lip, though the wind was cold. Oh please, God. Oh please, I kept thinking. I love him so much. Please don’t do this.
“Just in case I’m not around for last call,” he said, “I want you to be happy. And make our son Allie happy, which I know you will. And make sure Jennie doesn’t marry an Irishman. Promise,” he whispered in the voice I loved so.
“I promise,” I finally whispered, fighting back the tears.
“I love you, sweet one,” he said. “I love you, Maggie. You are the best.”
Patrick had that familiar, wry look in his eyes, but suddenly they changed. He stared past me.
Then a strange sound rose up from deep inside his chest. He let go of my hand. He just let go of me. Simple and uncomplicated, as our love had been. I screamed as I stared into Patrick’s eyes. Oh, God, please don’t let him die.
I held him tightly and began to cry. I put my head on his chest, now silent and still.
Oh please… please, don’t let this happen. Whoever’s in charge, show us mercy.
Patrick couldn’t hear me. He was gone. As swiftly as the storm that swirled about us had come up.
CHAPTER 43
I MUST HAVE held him for an hour, not caring what would happen to me or to the floundering boat that bore us.
The storm had traveled due east, and the waters were calm again, though I barely noticed. A feeble sun cast streaks of amber light on lapping caps of grayish-green water.
I sat helpless beside him on the lonely, quietly rocking deck. I thought of the times we had shared together, and each time I did, I started to cry again.
Don’t go away. Let me look at you.
Don’t go away, Patrick. Don’t go away and leave me … oh, Padriac, oh, Patrizio, I moaned.
Sailors from the Coast Guard found me drifting at the reddish edge of sunset. I was still cradling Patrick in my arms.
So there you have it—that’s how I killed him. That’s my confession.
Book Three