Each Step Like Knives Read Online Free PDF Page B

go and his hand caught at the hem of
her pants.
     
    "Hey! Let go!"
     
    He sat up, then stood unsteadily. She caught him
before he could fall. His face had now paled remarkably beneath its
bluish cast. His full lips thinned and he gasped, as though in
pain. His fingers bit into her shoulders and his weight nearly took
her down again.
     
    Helena straightened her back and somehow kept them
both upright. "Where are you hurt?"
     
    He didn't answer her. He gave a low, tortured groan
as his feet moved. He went to his knees.
     
    "Hey," Helena said, more gently this time. "You'll
be all right. Let me get you inside, and I'll call a doctor."
     
    Somehow she made it with him to the living room of
her ramshackle house. She sat him on the threadbare couch, wrapped
him in an afghan her grandmother had crocheted, and went to the
kitchen to make some hot tea. Grateful for the gas stove that
worked even during a power outage, Helena lifted the phone from its
receiver without much hope. The wind still blew hard enough to
shake the windows and the rain still slashed the earth to mud. The
phone was out, as she'd expected.
     
    She dunked two tea bags into two oversize mugs, then
added liberal amounts of cream and sugar, added a few cookies from
a tin and put it all on a tray. Cookies could fix a lot of
problems, her grandmother had been fond of saying, and even if they
couldn't heal a man who'd nearly drowned, they'd sure make him feel
better. She added a flashlight and returned to the living room.
     
    She paused after setting down the tray. The man from
the sea had fallen asleep. His head lolled back, mouth slightly
parted, eyelashes casting shadows on his pale, still bluish cheeks.
His chest peeked through the holes in the afghan, and she could see
he was still breathing, at least.
     
    An inclination she couldn't understand made Helena
reach out and smooth his drying hair away from his forehead, then
let her fingers trail down his cheek. She withdrew before he could
wake. Then she tucked the blanket more firmly around him, pushed
his head softly onto a pillow and sat down with her tea in the
overstuffed chair across from him.
     
    There was something definitely odd about him, and
more than the way he'd entered her life. He looked...exotic.
Foreign. Had he fallen off a cruise ship? Was he a merchant sailor
from some far off land?
     
    Her tea spilled onto her lap before she realized she
was also falling asleep. Helena winced at the stickiness left
behind by the salt water. A shower, then bed, if her mystery guest
hadn't woken by then. She checked him again, but his breathing was
smooth, his pulse seemed normal enough, and his color was good. She
checked the phone again, but it was still out, and likely would be
until morning.
     
    After a rinse in the cold shower, her body didn't
seem so interested in sleep any longer. She checked on her visitor,
but he still slept. Helena wondered if she ought to wake him
up...weren't people with head injuries not supposed to sleep?
Uneasiness sent a chill down her spine. What if he died in the
night?
     
    She put another couple of blankets over him, fully
aware he was still completely nude under them. In the flashlight's
dim light, his face looked impossibly serene. She bent low over
him, uncertain why, and brushed her lips along his forehead. Then
she stepped back, stunned by her own actions.
     
    She fled to the safety of her bedroom and the covers
under which she could hide from the night and the storm
outside.
     
     

What is this darkness to which I have succumbed?
     
    Beneath the waves, the Carrageenai took rest, but
were never overcome by this darkness filled with thoughts and
visions he knew were not real, but seemed so vivid he thought he
could reach out and touch them. One of the visions was of the woman
bending to press her mouth to his skin. A kiss. She kissed him, and
as Jeenai heard the soft pad of her feet as she left him, his eyes
opened to more darkness. This time, to the darkness of