Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

him.
     
    And try to make another deal with God.
     
    She scrubbed until her fingers were pale and pruny, until the ache in her back was paired by a low, persistent pain in her gut. Sweat filmed her face and stung her eyes. Or maybe those were tears.
     
    She blinked and bit her lip as another spasm stabbed her. Not good.
    She hadn’t . . . With Nick, she’d never . . .
     
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    Oh. She doubled over in pain, clutching the rim of the sink.
     
    Breathe. In through her nose, out through her . . . Ow. Oh.
     
    “Regina?” Her mother’s voice, dim and concerned.
     
    Regina inhaled. Straightened, still gripping the edge of the sink. “I’m all right.” She had to be all right.
     
    Antonia was not convinced. Her dark, hard eyes examined her daughter’s face. “Your cheeks are all red. Go to the bathroom, wash your face.”
     
    Regina nodded. Her head felt wobbly. “You have to . . . listen for the phone.”
     
    “Hell, girl, I know that. Take your break.”
     
    Yes. Okay. Regina took little steps to the restroom, cautious as an old woman with a walker.
     
    It’s just nerves, she told herself. Stress. As soon as she rinsed her face, sat down a minute, she’d be fine.
     
    She pushed open the door to the women’s room; splashed cold water on her face and hands before she entered a stall.
     
    Legs shaking, she sank down on the toilet.
     
    They were still shaking minutes later as she teetered back into the kitchen, one hand on the wall for support.
     
    Antonia took one look at her face and scowled. “Regina? Baby?
    What is it?”
     
    “Mama . . .” Her voice broke. “I’m bleeding.”
     
    *
     
    Nick was not in the caves.
     
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    Driven by desperation and the rising tide, Dylan had searched the hole where the demon had dumped Regina and then the tunnels beyond.
    Nick wasn’t there. Or had wiggled out of range of his voice.
     
    Or . . . Dylan stared out at the darkening sea and purple sky, forcing himself to consider the possibilities. Maybe Nick couldn’t answer. Maybe the boy was bound, gagged, dead.
     
    Or would be dead soon.
     
    The tide rattled over the stones, black and silver, like a chain. Dylan inhaled through clenched teeth, the weight of failure on his chest like the pressure of a deep dive. He was not a warden or a cop. He did not have Conn’s power or Caleb’s position. But he was here. Regina was counting on him. Nick needed him. He had to find a link to Nick.
     
    Or the kid could die.
     
    Dylan ground his jaw. What did he know about links and connections? He’d spent the past twenty years avoiding human contact, cutting all human ties. He was out of his element, he’d confessed to Regina. In over his head. But he’d be damned before he’d leave her to sink or swim alone.
     
    The sea reached long, pale fingers over the rocks, plucking at his feet. Through the clouds, the moon shimmered like a silver coin at the bottom of a bucket.
     
    Dylan’s breath caught. Like a coin . . .
     
    *
     
    “Bleeding, yes,” Antonia said into the phone. Regina watched dully from the kitchen stool. “I don’t know, I’ll ask her. Did you throw up?”
    she asked her daughter.
     
    Regina swallowed hard and shook her head. She hadn’t wanted this baby. It was a mistake. An inconvenience. A disaster. But it was hers now, hers and Dylan’s. She crossed her arms over her stomach as if she could hold it inside.
     
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    “No vomiting,” Antonia told the doctor, her fingers almost blue, wrapped tight around the phone cord. “No, I haven’t taken her temperature. All right. Yes, we will. I’ll tell her.”
     
    Antonia hung up. “Donna wants to see you at the clinic. She’ll be out front in ten minutes to pick you up.”
     
    Regina bit her lip. “Can’t she examine me here? The phone . . .”
     
    Antonia scowled. “I’ll take care of the phone. You take care of yourself.”
     
    Herself and the baby. Regina’s hand crept to the cross around her neck; fingered the pearl. Her son was out there somewhere, lost. She couldn’t lose this baby, too. Heaven couldn’t be so cruel.
     
    “Ten minutes?”
     
    “That’s what she said.” Antonia’s mouth set in a hard, grim line. Her eyes were dark and concerned. She fumbled in her apron pocket for her cigarettes; put them back again. “You need anything from upstairs?”
     
    Regina forced a smile for her mother’s sake. “Thanks, Ma. I’m good.”
     
    Antonia’s work-roughened hand smoothed her daughter’s hair.