Chapter Six

“The man who has experienced shipwreck shudders even at a calm sea.”

�" Ovid

I had always wondered why, in books and movies, people screamed when they discovered or saw a dead body. I never understood it. A dead body couldn’t harm you, unless it was oozing deadly pathogens. And still now, I found the idea of screaming or panicking while stumbling upon this poor man’s dead corpse ridiculous. 

Dejected, I returned to the beach and waited for Gabriel. There was little chance of him hearing or seeing me if I shouted. But I didn’t want to be the one to call the police. 

It was ten minutes before I saw Gabriel’s arms and head skim across the water bound for the shore. I jumped up and rushed towards him.

“What is it?” he asked, flicking the sodden hair off his face.

My throat was suddenly dry, my voice weak.

“There’s . . . there’s a dead man over there.”
“What?” he gasped.

“A dead man, I recognise him, from the bar you took me to.”

His eyes bored into me, his chest rising and falling,  

“Show me.”
He snagged a towel and rubbed his hair and torso furiously. I led him to the rocks, then stood back and pointed. He stilled, his lips parted, looking down at the body. 

“I checked his pulse,” I told him. “But I think he must have been dead a few hours at least.”

A shadow passed over his face.

“It’s Vittorio, the man from the bar,” he confirmed.

I blinked.

“You knew him?”
“He was the one who showed me this bay, the one who started the rumours about the jellyfish, thirty years ago.”

My mind fought to absorb the strange coincidence.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling it was inadequate. “Do you think he fell?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“I don’t know. He was a strong guy and knew these cliffs better than anyone.”
My heart thumped.

“You think he was pushed?”
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to me briefly.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what I'm saying. We need to call the police.”

He strode off resolutely, leaving me to stumble after him. He turned suddenly.

“I’ll call them from the car. Wait here,” he ordered. “The police will want to know how you found him, it’s best to show them.”
I obeyed, sitting down on my towel, the wind swirling through my legs. I swallowed the urge to cry, unsure if it was because of poor Vittorio or how Gabriel’s sudden coolness had unexpectedly stung me. I hugged my knees to my chest and rocked softly. The afternoon had begun so perfectly and now it was a horrid mess. Francesco’s disappearance and now this. I didn’t dare consider the two incidents were connected. 

“They’re on their way.”
I jumped. I hadn’t heard Gabriel’s footfalls on the sand. I nodded in reply. He crouched down.

“I’m sorry if I was brusque before,” he said, softly. “Seeing Vittorio like that . . .”
“There’s no need,” I replied, though I was relieved. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he continued. “Finding a dead body can be upsetting.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. 

He picked up a handful of sand and let it drizzle through his fingers. We sat in silence, both engrossed with our thoughts, the advancing clouds murking the blue sky. A deep rumble reverberated around the bay, echoing off the cliffs and growing louder. Seconds later, a helicopter swung into view. Approaching squealing sirens perforated the stillness on the beach, signalling the unwanted advent of reality. Gabriel held out his hand and pulled me up. I took a long breath and steeled myself for the oncoming chaos and barrage of questions. 

A flow of people, wearing varying uniforms, streamed down from the cliff top. The thought of them poking and prodding Vittorio’s body, photographing every minute detail nauseated me. I wanted to leave, get away from these buzzing flies, to somewhere where I could breathe again, uncomfortable at the fractured sanctity of the bay. Thankfully, we were not detained very long. We answered questions and were told to report to the police station the next day to give official statements and DNA samples and fingerprints. For me, it passed in a blur, the voice replying not my own, detached from this alien reality. An officer escorted us back to Gabriel’s car. We drove away in silence and the hollowness in my stomach yawned. 

After a mile or so, Gabriel turned the car off the road and killed the engine. His hands gripped the wheel. He stared blankly through the windscreen. A drop of rain splattered onto it, then another. I gazed numbly at my hands. Gabriel jerked suddenly, unbuckled his seat belt and threw himself out of the car. An acidic flare of anxiety simmered nervously in my stomach. Before I knew what I was doing, I flung open the door and hurried after him. 

 

He stood at the cliff’s edge, rain peppering his hair and soaking his back, and just as I reached him, a bolt of lightning split the sky and the world cracked open with thunder. I faltered, the sound jolting through my bones and stealing the breath from my chest. I gasped and touched Gabriel’s elbow. His head snapped to me, his eyes wild. I flinched. My arm dropped and I recoiled. His sudden anger alarmed me, the intensity at odds with all I knew of him. But more frightening still was the way he seemed to be seeing through me. I stepped back.

“We should return to the car,” I shouted over the rain. “The storm is right above us.” 

He breathed heavily, his expression not changing.

“It’s not safe out here,” I attempted. “We need to go home.” 

He blinked then, his shoulders loosening. He looked up and then back at me.

“Yes, we should.”

I didn’t wait but jogged to the car. I fastened my seat belt and sighed, longing to be back at Sofia’s, dry with a cup of tea. Gabriel thrust himself into the car and slammed the door shut. He grasped my wrist. The anger had disappeared, his face was open, his eyes apologetic. 

“I am sorry about that, it’s just . . .” He hung his head. “You’ve been incredible about all this and I . . .”

I swallowed.
“You mean, it’s a relief I didn’t fall into hysterics and cry inconsolably?” I attempted, hoping to break the tension. 

“Yes,” he said, with a flicker of a smile. “though I don’t see you as the hysterical type. Nor would I assume such a sexist stereotype.”

He raised a hand and clasped my cheek. 

“I’m sorry the afternoon was ruined,” he said, quietly. 

“It was almost perfect,” I murmured. “The bay was beautiful.”

His hand dropped.

“Hmm, now it’s crawling with police and forensic teams and journalists most likely.”

Raindrops pelted down and a gust of wind tore down the road, whipping up the rain. Gabriel turned the key in the ignition.

“Let’s get you home.”

Lightning split the dense sky and thunder crackled menacingly over us. Through the streaming windows I could see the indigo sea whipped up, heaving and writhing like a beast struggling against restraints. Gabriel deftly navigated the roads, keeping his speed slow, rain water gushing down in streams. Exhaustion gorged on my body and muddied my mind. I tried in vain to reason Francesco’s disappearance and Vittorio’s death, striving to conceive of some connection. I gave up, my temples throbbing, and hoped I wouldn’t be too late for dinner.

That night I slept fitfully, waking many times to the howling wind rattling the shutters. The thunder and lightning had abated but the wind and rain showed no sign of retreating. I thrust back the sheets and lay staring up at the dark ceiling, my mind refusing to be quiet, instead confronting me with the image of Vittorio’s blood crusting on the rocks, the flies restlessly twitching at the corners of his mouth. 

Shortly after saying goodnight to Sofia and Luca and slumping into bed, fatigue had dragged me under into a dreamless repose. When I woke, I squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Only an hour had passed. I groaned. I rolled and squirmed seeking a comfortable position. I dozed sporadically before waking up fully again. The pattern repeated all night. I longed for the morning and an end to this ceaseless nightmare.