Randall looked up at the clouds and wondered if he was dead. Although bone-weary, he could see that his hands and feet were making elaborate patterns in the choppy waters. It seemed like only yesterday he’d been on that Greyhound from Houston, returning to Galveston for the first time without Annie.
A fugue had crept over him in these last few weeks. A memory that had started to fade during his period inside was now warped. It played tricks on him and it was impossible to know what was real. Instinctively, he understood he was fighting for his life in the unforgiving water, but he wasn’t sure why. Maurice returning into his life had been a dream, one that had morphed into a nightmare, if his last memories of him were anything to go by. Could it really be that he had been killed in the same gruesome manner as Annie? And was the madman shouting nonsense from the boat really his son?
That last thought brought unwelcome clarity to Randall’s thoughts. His mind worked that way sometimes, and had rewarded him now with a perfect snapshot of what he’d done and why he was here.
Annie. Every time he thought of her now, she was walking away from him, gliding toward the gulf on the shore of which she was ultimately killed by his son. If only he could stretch through time, reach out and tell her not to go. But regrets were pointless. He’d made so many mistakes. If that man on the boat was truly his son, then in some ways Randall had to take the blame. He’d tried to help Sadie, and would have done more if he’d known about Mosley. He guessed he’d paid his penance for that particular mistake, whether it was his fault or not, but that was obviously not enough. This man, this monster, he had created hadn’t been satisfied with that, and Randall didn’t know what would ever appease him.
But no. He thought maybe he did know.
Maybe he deserved to die, but the others didn’t.
It was time to go.
Hopefully, watching him die would be enough for his son to show mercy on Laurie and the young woman. His energy was all but spent anyway, and the warm water felt welcoming, as if it were beckoning him toward Annie. He took one last breath and was about to sink beneath the waves when a piercing screeching sound, like metal on metal, stopped him.
Laurie didn’t realize until it happened—the violent, shrieking sound of the boat ramming against something lurking just beneath the surface of the water—how peaceful she’d been in those final moments. It was as if her acceptance of what was happening had switched everything off, and for the briefest moment she’d been one with the water.
That had all vanished the second the screeching-metal sound ripped the world in two. It felt like someone had jabbed her with a shot of adrenaline directly into her heart. Had she not been in the water, she would have leaped to her feet. As it was, she rolled onto her front in time to see Mosley launched, pinwheeling, from the boat and vanish under the water.
With no time to consider what had struck the vessel, she began swimming toward Mosley. “Get Frank to the boat,” she yelled to Tilly, then left her two companions fighting the water.
She’d marked the point where Mosley had disappeared below the surface and churned toward it.
With any luck, he’d been struck in his head when he’d fallen. Only now did she notice that the boat was tilted precariously, seemingly caught on something. She’d just sent Tilly and Frank toward it. But it didn’t appear to be taking on water, and making for it was their best, their only option.
Reaching the spot where Mosley had hit the water, Laurie treaded water in circles next to where he had gone under. Did he just sink to the bottom? Should she join Tilly and Frank at the boat? She fought to raise herself high enough from the water to locate them. There they were, swimming—toward her, not the boat—as though in slow motion.
She’d just decided to turn one more full revolution, had just mouthed “Where are you?”， when Mosley erupted to the surface right beside her, spluttering and coughing. Laurie wasted no time. It was hard to get any purchase in the water but she began raining blows down on the man. She didn’t know if he still had the gun but she didn’t care. Mosley had proved his strength before, and most of hers had faded during her time overboard. If she didn’t stop the fight before it started, then Mosley would have more than enough power to drown her and probably Frank and Tilly, too.
The blows didn’t seem like they were landing. Mosley wasn’t reacting. He was still spluttering water, a manic smile on his face as the surrounding area began turning red. Laurie looked beneath the maroon-tinged seawater to see a metal rod protruding from Mosley’s gut—the source of the blood. He noticed her looking and reached his arms around her body. His strength was undeniable. Even in the water, with what should be a fatal injury to his body, his grip was still vice-like.
“I’ve enjoyed this, Laurie.” He said this in a conversational, almost intimate tone. “Who knows, under different circumstances, we could have got along,” he said, as his weight dragged them beneath the surface.
Mosley’s eyes were still open underwater as Laurie bucked against him, trying to wriggle free of his grasp. The manic smile was painted on his face and Laurie refused to allow that to be the last thing she ever saw. She tried to relax, breathing out and willing her body to go limp. She thought of the hundreds of runs she’d completed since Milly had died. So many times she’d felt just like this, her lungs fit to burst from the effort of staying in motion, but she’d continued. She could outlast Mosley, she was sure of that, as long as she didn’t panic.
As if Mosley recognized her resolve, he held on even tighter, but even so she sensed his strength fading. She wriggled in his arms, trying not to exert herself too much, and found her hand resting on the metal rod. Mosley’s eyes opened wide and she pushed down on the bar with all her might, Mosley offering her a silent, bubbling scream as his arms loosened.
He tried to grab on to her as she kicked for the surface—she felt his right hand brushing her ankle—but she was too strong for him. Above her, she could make out the orange circle of the life preserver and she kept going, with that her only focus.
Breaking the surface, she gasped out for the salt-tinged air and used the last of her strength to clamber onto the life preserver. Above her, the Coast Guard helicopter hovered, one of the team already descending toward the weirdly angled boat where, clinging to each other on the edge, waves lapping at them, were Frank and Tilly.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Laurie looked straight ahead, her leg jigging in anticipation. After Mosley’s body had been fished from the sea, Frank and Tilly had been flown to Houston, where they were both recovering. Laurie had insisted on returning to Galveston, and was now sitting in the back of a patrol car. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt like she was back on the sea, or worse, within it. She could see Mosley’s unworldly grin as he grabbed her under the surface, and it was hard to believe that he was gone; harder still to believe he could ever be related to David.
Galveston was still a ghost town as the car made its way to Tilly’s house. The mayor was still only letting emergency personnel back onto the island for the next two days, as rescue and salvage crews ground away at the work that would consume them for weeks to come. The place was still littered with debris. Power was down, the island covered in a thick layer of sludge, a combination of silt and raw sewage that swarmed with great black clouds of mosquitoes.