True Confessions

"Jonas, wake up!"

"Terry!"  Still in the throes of his nightmare, Jonas stumbled out of bed, the pain from his wounded leg instantly snapping him awake.  He yelped in pain, then staggered to the cabin door and opened it for Celeste.

"Jonas, are you okay?"

Jonas slumped back onto his bed, out of breath.

Celeste adjusted her white bathrobe and knelt down beside him, affording him a glimpse of her tanned cleavage.  "I heard you screaming from next door.  Are you all right?  Do you want something to drink?  Water?"

"No."  His chest stopped heaving.  He realized he was wearing only sweatpants.

"How often do you wake up screaming like this?"

He looked at her through bloodshot eyes.  "Lately, almost every night."

"Sure you don't want a drink?  I could use a nightcap."

"No, thanks.  Have you heard anything more about the Coast Guard survivors?"

"The man who was in shock should be okay.  The cadet broke his leg from the fall.  Mackreides flew both of them to a local hospital a few hours ago."

"Where's the shark?"

"Moving north again along the coast.  Maren says she'd increased her speed. He and the captain are setting a new course to cut her off, hopefully before she feeds again.

"Feeds again?  Wait . . ."  Jonas rubbed his eyes, trying hard to remember.  "The capsized boat . . .  there was someone else on board—"

"Two others," Celeste said.  "One drowned.  Angel ate the other."

"Damn it . . ."  The memory flooded back to him, the bile rising from his gut.

"Are you okay?"

"No!" he snapped, standing up.  "Are you okay?  Does it bother you that two more people died today because this creature escaped from our facility?  Is there any part of you that feels even a little responsible?  Think about it—two more families torn apart because of—"

"Go fuck yourself," she spat back.  "Who the hell are you to criticize me?  Will my weeping bring back the dead?  Will my guilt?  I came in here because my room is next door and I heard you screaming.  Next time, I won't bother."

Jonas grabbed her arm as she went for the door.  "Wait, I'm sorry—"

"Leave me alone."

"Celeste, please . . .  My brain's fried, give me a break."

She looked into his eyes.  "You know, Jonas, the other night, when we were alone together on deck, I wanted to trust you.  For the first time I thought, here's someone who might be able to understand what I'm going through."

"Tell me what you were going to say."

"Not now, I'm not up to it."

Jonas placed a hand on her shoulder.  "Celeste, it's no excuse, but I’m really stressed out.  I really am sorry.  Now come on, the other night you started to tell me why you felt trapped by your own destiny.  What did you mean by that?  Tell me, I really want to know."

She sat on a small couch, pulling both feet up on the cushions.  "How well do you know Benedict Singer?"

"I've met him a few times."  Jonas sat opposite her, propping his bandaged leg on the bed.  "I got the impression he likes to be in control."

"Control is an understatement.  Benedict likes to play God. He seeks out desperate souls, people who have hit bottom, then recruits them, putting them to work in his private society.  He restores value—his values.  He offers salvation, but always at a price.  Loyalty is a virtue he demands, if he finds it lacking, he uses fear to restore it.  Once Benedict takes you under his wing, you're under for life."

"Does the same go for you?"

"Yes and no.  Benedict knows he won't live forever.  About fifteen years ago he suffered an accident that not only injured his eyes, but made him sterile.  As his ward I'm the closest thing he'll ever have to an heir.  He's made it my destiny to take over his operation."

"And you feel trapped by that?"

"Not at all.  In fact, I love wielding power.  I love it as much as Benedict.  But I have another calling, one I think you can relate to.  More than anything, I want to avenge my mother's death."

"You know who killed her?"

"Yes, and I've been obsessed with murdering this motherfucker for as long as I can remember."

"But you've restrained yourself."

"The timing wasn't right.  I didn't want to screw things up with Benedict."

"I take it he wouldn't approve."

"Would Benedict approve?"  A wicked smile spread across her face.  "Benedict has no problem with me killing someone—as long as it's good for business.  In this case, he'd probably disagree.  Benedict and I have a strange relationship.  I love him, but he still frightens the shit out me."

Like you frighten the shit out of me.

Celeste seemed to read his thought.  "I take it you don't approve?"

"It's not my place to judge.  My mother wasn't the one murdered."

"Benedict would say I'm nursing an everlasting wound within my breast.  I'm biding my time, keeping my enemy close."

"Then you are going to go through with it?"

"One day."  She lay back, placing a bare leg atop the couch in a seductive pose.  "What I said scares you, doesn't it?  Well, at least I face my fears instead of waking up screaming every night."

Jonas felt a cold sweat break out along his back.  He reached across the bed and grabbed his T-shirt, slipping it over his head.

"Now you talk," Celeste said.  "I want to know what's really haunting you.  How long have you been having these nightmares?"

"They started about two years ago, during the trial.  Imagine sitting in a courtroom, week in and week out, having to face the surviving parents and spouses and children of innocent people who died brutal deaths, all because you were trying to capture a shark."

"The trial was a sham.  Everybody knows the judge railroaded you."

"Maybe, but the pressure became overwhelming.  I'd go home and stay up all night, my insides torn apart from guilt.  Terry was pregnant at the time.  We'd been so excited, our first child and all.  But the stress of the trial and the media coverage really took its toll.  Just before the verdict came in, the baby died in the womb during the eighth month of pregnancy."

"I'm sorry."

"The night terrors began right after that.  The psychiatrist labeled it posttraumatic stress disorder, brought on by feelings of guilt manifested during the trial.  For a while the medication worked, but recently, the dreams have been coming back, this time worse than ever.  That's when I realized what was really happening."

"I don't understand."

Jonas took a deep breath.  "I knew as far back as two years ago that the Meg's offspring was growing way too large to control.  I think the nightmares were my subconscious telling me to get off my ass and do something before it was too late."

"So why didn't you?"

"I did—or rather, I passed the buck.  I told Masao, warning him that one day the creature would escape, that we needed to permanently seal her in the lagoon.  He agreed, but we just didn't have the funds.  Out of left field, the judge slapped us with a cease and desist order, closing the Institute down and freezing our assets.  We couldn't do anything but pay attorneys and feed the damn shark.  It was as if the powers that be wanted us to go bankrupt."

Jonas stood and limped to the porthole, opening it to take in some fresh air.  "I blew it, Celeste, three times I've blown it.  First, aboard the Seacliff, then by trying to capture the Megalodon instead of killing it, and now, by allowing its offspring to escape.  How does the saying go?  A coward dies a thousand deaths, a brave man dies but one.  That's me.  I should have drained the lagoon and drowned the Megalodon two years ago."

"Kill the Meg?  Are you crazy?"

"A good question.  I'm beginning to wonder."

She stood, moving next to him.  He could smell the jasmine fragrance on her skin.  He stared at her, feeling himself getting aroused as she nonchalantly undid her robe.

"Celeste, you better go."

She moved closer.  "I don't have to."

"You're a beautiful woman, but I'm married—happily married."

"You don't seem very happy."

"You're right, but I love my wife.  Now please—"

"Okay, but you still haven't answered my question."

"You mean about feeling trapped?"  He closed the porthole, distancing himself from her.  "Eleven years ago, I cheated death.  I think I was supposed to have died aboard the Seacliff.

"That's nonsense.  Why say such a thing?"

"Because I've seen my death and it has closure.  In my dreams I'm descending in the deep-sea model of the Abyss Glider.  Angel appears out of the blackness, and this time, I can't escape.  I know it sounds crazy, but I'm convinced it's my destiny to die where I should have years ago, in the dark recesses of the Trench."