The Millionaires - Brad Meltzer [111]
I kick my flippers and glide through the door. The light flicks around, but it’s still hard to get my bearings. It’s a small galley—big enough for three or four people—and the sink, the stove, even the countertops are all on their side. In the corner, a ladder that usually runs up to the second floor now runs horizontally. Same with the stairs that go down to the cargo hold. The ceiling’s on my right; the floor’s on my left. When I look up, two empty wood cabinets sway open like the Coke machine. In between them is an open porthole window. Weightlessness hits hard and the room starts to spin.
I do my best to follow the bubbles, but the confined space is getting the best of me. The walls ripple like they’re made of mercury. It’s like looking through melted glass. My stomach cartwheels and the taste of vomit bites me in the back of the throat. Oh, God—if I puke in the airhose… Frantically, I spin to my left, searching for the door. Instead, I’m face-to-face with the linoleum floor. It doesn’t make sense. I wheel around, but nothing’s familiar. The whole world kaleidoscopes as light-headedness sets in. I grab my chest, panting like a rabid dog. I swear, the room’s getting smaller. And darker. Everything—in every direction—it all goes gray.
A sharp jab hits me in the back and two arms lock around my chest. We flip sideways and I’m not sure which way’s up. The impact knocks the flashlight from my hands and it tumbles in slow motion toward the bottom. As it falls, the whole room flickers like a disco. Fighting free, I spin back and face Gillian. I can barely see her through all the bubbles. Her arms thrash wildly, gripping and grabbing at the front lower part of my vest. It’s the only thing holding my air in place. Why’s she trying to unhook it? Panicking, I hold her by the wrists. She digs in her nails. Refusing to give up, she comes at me again, clawing in a mad rage. But this time, I get a look at her eyes.
“Please… trust me,” she begs with a glance.
Desperately, her hand charges out. A plastic hook flips open, and my weight belt falls away. In a blur, Gillian grabs me by the lapels and shoves me backwards. Following her gaze, I look straight up—and just as I see the open porthole window—she finally lets me go. Without the weight belt, I rise like a human cork. She gives me a final tug to make sure I don’t bang the tank on the way out, but after that, I’ve got a clear shot to the surface.
Swimming madly to catch up, Gillian points to her mouth, reminding me to breathe. I let out a huge puff of air and stare up through the water. Black becomes dark blue becomes sea green. She grabs my hand to make sure I don’t rise too fast. Don’t blow it now, Oliver. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
We crack the surface and the cool night air whips against my face. Next to me, Gillian’s already inflating her vest.
“You okay? Can you breathe?” she asks frantically as she swims to my side. Holding me up, she hits the button on my inflation tube and the vest starts to hiss. It hugs my ribs and squeezes my stomach. Right there, I dry-heave, but the vomit never comes.
“Is that better? Are you okay?” she asks again.
Bobbing in the water, I barely hear the question. Slowly, the color in my vision locks into focus. “Wh-Why’d you leave me?” I ask her.
“Leave you?”
“On the ship—I turned around and you were gone.”
“I thought you saw me—I waved as I left…”
“Then why didn’t you take me with you?”
“For the exact reason I had to pull you out—going down is one thing—navigating inside a wreck… the disorientation… that’s not something you try on your first dive.”
“And that’s the real reason?”
“What other reason would th—?” Her eyes go wide like I jammed a scalpel in her ribs. “Y-you think I… I’d never abandon you… I wouldn’t leave anyone like that.” Her voice cracks as she says the words. It’s like she can’t comprehend it. Letting go of me, she slowly floats away.
“Gillian…”
“I’d never hurt you…”
“I’m not saying you would, it’s just… when you said my real name—”
“In the house—your brother said it.”
“I figured… but