Esteban (Dark Paradise)

CHAPTER 1

I knew that the wave was too dangerous. I knew it and that was why I went for it. It came rolling into Hanalei Bay like a brilliant blue shock wave, diamond-studded from the sun, catching the attention of the bored surfers on this otherwise average day. It called to me like a slippery siren, just as it called to them. But instead of watching it pass underneath my dangling legs, like I had done with every surfable wave in the last hour, I decided to answer the call.

I decided it would be a good way to die.

Determined, I lay down on my stomach and began paddling like a madwoman, knowing the liquid beast was barreling up behind me. I could hear some of the territorial surfers out there were yelling, perhaps to get out of their way, perhaps to warn me, but I didn't care. The golden beach spread out in front of me as kids grabbed their bodyboards and fled from the surf, their parents yelling at them to be careful. They knew the dangers, just as I did.

I wasn't a great surfer. But then again, that was the point.

I sucked in my breath, salt dancing on my tongue, and got to my knees as I felt the massive pull of the wave take me and the board back.

My feet found the rough, beaten surface, my legs bracing for balance. The ocean roared beneath me. This wave was what every surfer could ever dream of, their holy grail, their Moby Dick, and I captured it like fireflies in a jar. I could feel the power, the surge, the sea spray, the sun on my skin. I could feel everything, as if I were finally alive and breathing and part of the world.

And yet living was the last thing on my mind.

I rode that wave for a few seconds that stretched out into eternity. Maybe my life flashed before my eyes, or maybe it flashed behind them. One moment I was up, feeling the immense girth of the wave curling up behind me, and the next I was down, a flower crushed in a closing hand. The board was yanked away from me so hard and fast that the cord was ripped off my ankle, and I was pulled in a million directions before the way down was the only way to go. The wave pummeled me until I took in water and gave up nothing in return.

No fight.

My eyes closed, burned by the salt, and my hair whipped around my head like seaweed. With heavy limbs and a heavy heart, I sank.

The ocean took me under, intent on holding me hostage with no ransom.

No one would have bartered for me anyway.

And then a hand reached out for me in the depths, wrapping around my wrist. I didn't know if it was the hand of life or death. But it had me.

Then another hand grabbed my arm and I felt the water around me surge, my body being pulled upward. I opened my eyes into the stinging blue glow, and past the rising bubbles and foam, I caught a glimpse of a man's face. His expression was twisted in turmoil; I suppose from the act of trying to save me. He obviously didn't know how little I'd appreciate it, how little I was worth it.

Suddenly, I was brought up to the surface, the sun and air hitting me just as the water began to rush out of my lungs. I could only cough until my chest ached, the rest of me completely useless as the man towed me toward the shore. My brain switched on and off, processing everything in splices of film:

The man's longish hair sticking to the back of his bare neck.

The gray clouds that hunkered down above the cliffs of the Na Pali coast.

The people on the beach watching my rescue, hands to their mouths, murmurs in the crowd.

The painfully vivid sky as the man lay laid me down on the beach, cradling the back of my head in his hands.