Below the surface

Finally. Silence.

It took two weeks to plan, but it was worth it. I needed this weekend, a weekend that's only mine.

I can't even remember the last time I took the boat out. I'm not sure what to start with now that I have time to spare. I brought books, fishing gear, and so much wine. Maybe I should start with some swimming. It's been so long since I've swum in water that wasn't full of chlorine, and the blue here seems so clear, so inviting.

He took off his t-shirt and threw it aside. The trousers followed suit. He reached to take off his boxers and hesitated. Yes, no one was around for miles. He was in the middle of the ocean, but was that enough to convince him it was okay to go swimming naked? Maybe tomorrow.

He jumped in the water and felt warm. Not because the water was warm, it was pretty cold actually, but this made it real. He did some swimming and ensured always to keep the boat in view. After all, he was alone in the middle of nowhere. He didn't want to do something stupid like wander too far. A storm could start at any moment, or the currents can grow too strong, so he'd need to stay close. With such a clear sky, the prospect of a storm seemed stupid. But better safe than sorry.

Minutes passed, hours, days, weeks. The water felt so nice on his skin, time didn't matter. The sun was setting, and soon the water won't feel as nice. He'd rather not catch a cold on his first day out, so he decides to be reasonable and make his way back to the boat. Come to think of it, he's starving. When was the last time he ate today—what the hell is that!? It looks like a black spill in the water. Is it a patch of seaweed? A large seal? Are there even seals here?

He stopped halfway back to the boat and looked around to see if there was another boat nearby, but there was nothing. Nothing but calm water. And that black thing hovering there underneath the surface. He took a deep breath and submerged, trying to see if he could figure out whether it was an animal or junk floating about. With the sun so low and it being quite far away, he couldn't make it out. But there was definitely something there. It also seemed to be drifting away from him. How curious.

He emerged from the water and breathed deeply. He was conflicted. Was this thing whatever it was worth investigating? It could be a complete waste of time, but then again, he had time to waste. Also, he had to admit. It would bug him not knowing. He'd stay awake all night thinking about it. He had to find out exactly what it was. Books can wait.

The sun was still out, but it wasn't going to be there for long. He knew he had to hurry. So he set on swimming toward the black spot.

The closer he got to it, the more it seemed to drift away. But he was determined to see what it was.

All of a sudden, it stopped moving away. Whatever it was, it seemed pitch black in the water, and it spanned about two meters in diameter. It floated close to the surface but didn't break through above it. He continued staring at it until it hit him—it's hair!

The black thing floating near the surface was hair. Was someone in trouble? He found it quite unbelievable there'd be a person there with him, so without thinking, he went underwater and he saw her.

Her hair was black and framed her like a dark halo. He swam closer. After all, she might need help, and to give it, he'd have to be nearer. At least that's what he told himself. Truth was, he had to see her up close. What was she doing in the middle of the ocean, alone, with no boat in sight? How long was she even underwater? Her face wasn't covered in a mask, and she was also fully naked. No diver's suit, no diver's equipment. She was more puzzling than he could have expected, and he couldn't help but stare.

Her skin was so white she looked like a floating ghost. Her lips seemed soft and were a strange mix of pink, blue, and purple. Despite her nakedness, it was her eyes he couldn't stop looking at. They captivated him as they were so blue they put the ocean to shame. She had him so entranced, he didn't dare look away. What is this woman doing here, alone, in the middle of nowhere with no equipment or a boat in sight? The boat!

He completely forgot about his boat. He was supposed to keep it close, and he had no idea how far away from it he got. The sun was almost set, and he started to panic. He had to ascend and look around. Maybe the boat wasn't that far. Maybe he didn't swim for that long. He held onto that hope.

Consumed with his thoughts, he suddenly felt arms wrap around him. He was so shocked he almost opened his mouth but managed to avoid doing that. He looked ahead and found those blue eyes staring back at him. The woman was firmly pressed against him, her arms squeezing him tight. Her face was inches away from his. He froze.

She was so soft. And those eyes. He felt bewitched. He forgot about his panic, the boat, air, and breathing. There were only her eyes. Then, suddenly, she lunged and pressed her lips against his. They were as soft as he imagined them. For a second, nothing else existed but the feel of her. He felt a sting and lost consciousness. Then, when he opened his eyes again, there was nothing but dread: no more softness, no water, only darkness.

He had a blindfold on, his hands were tied behind his back, and he was sitting down. Someone grabbed his shoulder and lifted him. They pushed him to go forward. He started to, but his feet kept stumbling since he could barely stand. What happened? Where is he? There was a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his head. Was he kidnapped? This was a kidnapping. It had to be, right? That's the only thing that made sense. But why? And what about the woman? Who was she, and where was she? Is she blindfolded, walking next to him? So many questions, he felt dizzy.

The fear, the panic, it was too much. He began to think of all the kidnapping stories he had heard about in his lifetime. Sordid scenarios of victims and unsolved cases. He was the victim now. Fear spread through him so fast he stumbled and fell to his knees. Before he even got a chance to get up, he felt a sharp pain in his back. Someone hit him with something, he'd rather not think about what that something was, and he fell flat on his face. He felt arms grab him and pull him up. Those same arms pushed him again to continue his trek forward. What's going to happen next? He tried to shake his thoughts away and focus on walking without tripping—one foot in front of the other.

He began to think of what to do next. Maybe if he suddenly stops and charges in the direction behind him? Maybe he could tackle whoever's behind him and then… Yeah, that's stupid. As he was engulfed in his desperation, he felt the blindfold come off. Everything around him felt too bright.

He squinted and looked down. Whoever took it off must still be behind him. He wanted to look around and see where he was, but it was all too bright. After a few strides, he got used to the light and examined his surroundings. Everything was white—walls, floors, and ceilings. He seemed to be walking down a corridor, and he could see it was coming to an end. When they reached that end, he entered a dome-like room that was so large it was the tallest room he'd ever… A smack and sharp pain in his left shoulder. He staggered but kept going and kept his eyes fixed ahead. Whoever was behind him must not appreciate him looking around. But if he didn't fixate on his surroundings, he'd fall into the black hole of his thoughts.

As he looked ahead, he realized they were headed for another corridor on the other side of the dome-like room. On the way there, he could see a group of people standing by one of the walls. There were at least a dozen people, maybe more. As he neared, he distinguished two people in black with guns, and the others were completely naked. He was busy pitying them and almost missed her.

She was there, standing with her head down. Her wet hair clung to her, and her face was red. Bitch. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here. I'd be on my boat enjoying my fucking wine. How I hate you, woman. Then as if she felt my burning hatred, she looked up, and we locked eyes. Her impeccable blue eyes seemed red, too. And her face was wet. Is that because of the water, or was she crying? She looked down and didn't look up again.

We reached the corridor. It was different from the first one—it had the same white walls, floors, and ceiling, but it also had doors painted in every color imaginable. The corridor wound and curved, and there were doors everywhere—what a maze.

A few steps in the corridor is all it took. The noise hit him with a power that was almost physical. Screams surrounded him. It was so loud and chilling, it seeped in his very bones. The screaming was coming from all sides and gave him a cold sweat. At first, he thought it might be coming from speakers, but he quickly abandoned that notion. Every time they passed a door, the screams grew a bit louder. The noise was coming from behind the doors. But there seemed to be hundreds of doors. How many people were here? Was he going to become one of them? Pushed behind a door and made to produce these sounds?

He couldn't take a single step further. He stopped dead in his tracks and attempted to turn around. He had to do something—look into the eyes of the person behind him, ask him a million questions, threaten, plead, and beg. He couldn't do anything, though, not even turn around. As soon as he stopped walking, he was struck on the head so hard, he blacked out. There was darkness again. Not ideal, but at least the screaming stopped.

He felt dizzy again. He opened his eyes, but one failed to open fully. It must be swollen. It felt like his entire head was about to explode. He focused on his surroundings again. He was sitting in a wooden chair, and his arms and legs were bound to it. He turned to look around him—he was in a white room facing a door, a red one. His back was to the rest of the room. It took him less than a minute to realize that he wasn't alone.

The screams came back along with his consciousness. They were the background noise for his terror as they emanated from the other side of the door. But the screams he was already familiar with, and somehow that made them less terrifying than this new, unfamiliar noise—the one coming from behind that was a symphony of desperation and sorrow. There was no other way of describing it. It wasn't screaming, it wasn't ferocious or panicked or loud, but that only served to make it more horrifying. It was quiet and subdued—whimpers, whines, weeps. Who was making these sounds and why? Apart from these desperate, terrifying noises, he could hear something else that seemed a constant in the room. Some kind of metallic noise he couldn't place. He looked down at his feet and examined his restraints. Yes, he was firmly attached to the chair, but the chair itself didn't seem to be attached to the ground. That meant he could move it and see what was happening behind him. It took some effort, but he managed to scrape the chair in the other direction. What he saw made him wish he hadn't done that.

His eyes went wide, his mouth agape. He couldn't move, couldn't utter a word, or make a sound. It was as if time stood still, yet an eternity had gone by. He was not prepared for what he found. There was a stark contrast to the white room. Red everywhere. Splatters, puddles, it was all over the floor and the walls. He'd never seen anything like it.

Standing in one of the corners of the room, in a chair similar to his, but attached with metal brackets to the floor, sat a woman. At least he thought it was a woman. It was hard to tell. She looked a lot like a skeleton. She was bony, her cheeks were hollow, she had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair stuck to her. She was wearing a nightgown he could only assume had once been white. It now bore the evidence of her misery. It was covered in blood. What scared him most about this woman were her eyes. They seemed dead. She was looking straight at him, and her eyes seemed lifeless. She was as still as a statue except for her mouth, which was moving to produce the terrifying mewls that alerted him to her presence.

Her chair was made immovable, and so was she. There were restraints starting from her ankles up to her knees. You could see where the leather had embedded itself into her skin. Maybe there was a time she fought against them and lost. She had straps around her stomach, chest, and neck, too, as well as ones on her arms around her wrists. Her arm restraints were so close together from her elbows to her shoulders that they seemed like sleeves. Someone didn't want her to be able to move an inch. And it was clear why.

Right above her chair-strapped right forearm, he saw a swinging pendulum. It was attached to the ceiling and reached down to her immovable limb. The blade of the pendulum was cutting through the top layer of her forearm. It was swinging left to right, again and again, moving ever so slowly along her arm, ensuring that it always made a fresh cut. It remained affixed on the surface layer of her skin, not deep enough to cut off her arm but deep enough to cut. It was grotesque. He felt like puking and could feel the bile rising in his throat.

The smell of blood became too unbearable. He almost choked on his own vomit as he tried to spit it on the floor next to him and not on himself. He had so many questions. Was that to be his future? Is that why they put him in this room?

He lost the ability to breathe. Looking around frantically, he began fighting the restraints, trying to pull himself free, and as he was struggling, the chair shook, and he fell to his side, straight into a puddle of his vomit. He began hyperventilating. He wasn't aware he was crying, but his eyes were wet, and his vision fuzzy. He could barely see anymore. He didn't know what to do. What's going to happen to him? In his frazzled state, he missed the new sound echoing on the other side of the door. When he finally caught it, he froze. Footsteps.

He affixed his blurry eyes towards the door. He tried to blink the wetness away so he could see who was about to enter, but no matter how many times he blinked, his eyesight didn't get any better. Then he heard it—the lock. Someone was unlocking the door. It only took a moment after the click for the door to open. It was a person wearing black. He cursed his tears and continued to blink furiously as if his life depended on him seeing the person entering the door. For all he knew, it did. Then whoever opened the door took a step towards him, leaned down, and reached towards him. He began to hope that the person would help him stand again, wipe his face clean, and just as he was about to lie to himself with more false hopes, he felt it—a needle in his arm. In a blink, there was darkness.

He opened his eyes but couldn't see anything. It was pitch black where he was. He thought his eyes would adjust after a while, but they didn't. No matter how much time passed, he couldn't see a thing.

He was bound in an awkward position. His legs were pushed together and tied to what felt like a wooden block on the floor. His arms were stretched above his head and were bound as well, at the end of a chain he could only assume was hanging off the ceiling. He was so stretched his limbs were numb. He could move slightly, so he held onto the hope that if he were allowed motion, blades wouldn't be involved. He also didn't hear the metallic sound he heard in that room. No blades. But then what? What was to happen here, in this room? He continued to look around, not seeing. Then it began. Screams that were so loud, he thought they'd burst his eardrums. Unlike the ones he could hear before from behind the door, these were in the room. He began to violently tug at his restraints, trying to break free. The screams grew even louder. He didn't realize it, but he had started screaming, too. It was a primal, desperate reaction. Then he stopped. He stopped moving and just gave up. After a while, the screams began to fade until it was quiet again. He was alone in the dark, and it was so quiet he feared he had truly lost his hearing. That was proven wrong when out of nowhere he heard a deep voice say 'Good.' Then he felt a needle prick and lost consciousness.

He opened his eyes and saw stars spread across a dark sky. It took him a second to get his wits about. He jumped up from the hammock he was lying in and began frantically looking around. He was back on the yacht, his yacht. It was swaying gently from the waves, and he could see four bottles of wine moving on the floor in different directions. They were empty. There was also an empty glass on the table nearest to him. He went to the edge of the boat and searched for any other boats in the water. He couldn't see one. He kept walking to every side of his boat, looking around. He found nothing. He went to the table that held a platter of half-eaten cheeses and fruits and took the paring knife that lay on it. He squeezed it so tight in his palm, it hurt. He began to search his boat, and by the time he was done, everything was a mess. Every door was opened, closets and cabinets emptied. He was alone.

He went back to the deck and took a deep breath. The sea air filled his lungs, but instead of calming him down, it made him more frantic. He remembered the woman in the water, the other woman and her terrible wounds… The wounds! He sprinted to the full-length mirror with the knife still in his hand. He was drugged, hit, and his eye was swollen. But then he realized something frightening. His vision was perfect. Unlike how it was before, right now, it was fully open. He stood in front of the mirror and began examining every inch of himself. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He had not a single cut or scrape, no bruises, no scabs, nothing. This was maddening. He felt like he was losing his mind. Something wasn't right. He dropped the knife and fell to his knees sobbing. After what felt like hours, he slowly stood up and felt a bit dizzy. He needed a shower. He needed to be clean. A shower will help.

He let the water fall on him and just stood there, not even bothering to use products. He just stood. The water started hot and turned freezing. When it became too uncomfortable, he turned it off and got out of the shower. There was a towel on the floor from when he emptied the bathroom cabinet during his inspection. He wrapped himself with it. Then, he went out to the deck and got back in the hammock. He couldn't think right now. He didn't want to, so he laid down, and with the waves swaying him, submitted to exhaustion and went to sleep.

The sun woke him up. He jumped on his feet and began looking for the knife again. He opened a drawer and got another knife out, a bigger one. Then, he searched the surrounding water and saw nothing and no one. He examined every room in the boat again, then got out on the deck and sat down on one of the couches. He stared at the horizon and contemplated the events. Who was the woman in the water? The woman in the room? The group of naked people? The person that entered the bloody white room? His head felt like it'd burst. What happened to him? Did it even happen? Was he losing it? He looked at the empty wine bottles again. He had no memory of opening them, let alone drinking them.

He left the mess from his initial search as is and went to get a proper shower. Then he cooked himself an actual meal. He needed his strength back to think everything through. He went through the events first in his head and then took them down on paper. After he wrote down everything he experienced, it seemed even more ludicrous than before. He stared at the piece of paper for a long time before he crumpled it and threw it overboard. No, it didn't happen. It was a nightmare, a horrible drunken nightmare. It was only a figment of the imagination.

He decided to head back to land. Some fucking break that was. He was done with the sea. He couldn't stomach another moment in the water. Life was waiting for him beyond this stupid blue, people were waiting for him, depended on him. Important people. He had to get back to his life. Whatever happened, or didn't happen, didn't matter. Those people mattered, so by extension, he mattered, too. He couldn't spend his time freaking out about such nonsense. His routine would help him move past the horrid weekend, and after a while, it'd be like it never even happened.

But what he didn't know, couldn't possibly know, was that below his curly hair that was flowing in the wind, there was a minute device implanted just below the skin. A device that ensured some very important people could keep track of him.