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azombiewritesTitle: The Battered Collection of Captain Lee Crane
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Horror | Science Fiction
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:10100-Hurt-Comfort on Livejournal.
Challenge: Written for Thespook_me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon 2018.
Chapter Word Count: 3,399
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter Three
Prompt: Captured/Trapped and Ghost
Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Horror
Chapter Summary: Locked in the reactor room with no way out, Captain Lee Crane fights to survive an encounter he can’t explain or understand.
Captain Crane turned in surprise as the bulkhead door closed behind him, the handle spinning, locking into place. There was no reason for the door to close, no cause; he knew he was alone, no one on the other side of the door . . . no one to shut and lock it after he entered the reactor room.
Frowning with confusion, he moved slowly, with careful intent back toward the door. Hands gripping the handle, he tried to open it. It wouldn’t move, the door refusing to yield beneath a strength of stubborn concentration. Giving in, for now, he stepped back from the bulkhead door.
The lights flickered, Crane looking up as the darkness broke through, filling the reactor room, the sudden change causing a moment of blindness before the light returned.
A sound to his right, something scratching against a metal surface.
Crane turned his head, gaze searching for the source of the sound.
Muttered footsteps rushed past him, a bitter coldness embracing him as the sound of footsteps moved away from him, further into the room, Crane turning his head, his gaze to follow the sound. Felt the warmth return to his body.
With a feeling of dread, Crane realised he wasn’t alone.
There was someone else in the room.
Even though he’d seen no one, no physical form to match the sound of footsteps.
Hoping to see someone . . . something, anything to prove his mind hadn’t taken a wrong turn, now possible it was travelling a road toward insanity, Crane turned slowly to face the room, a wider range of sight, anxiety crawling across his skin.
Light bulbs shattered, darkness erupting, returning to fill the reactor room.
Their covers confining the glass fragments, stopping them from causing harm and injury, Crane still flinched with surprise, the breath catching in his throat, his body bending forward as his arms, his hands reached up to protect his head and face. He couldn’t ignore the obvious; all of the light bulbs exploding at the same time, not a coincidence Crane was certain.
When nothing more happened, Crane lowered his arms and stood upright, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the change of light, the room stretching out before him, a muted shape of unpleasant darkness. As the darkness slowly retreated to a safe distance, the red glow of the reactor rods his only source of light, Crane shivered, an uncomfortable feeling crawling across his skin. He could feel a sense of emptiness, of loneliness.
Crane continued to wait, unsure if the sound of footsteps would return.
Still nothing.
“If there’s someone here, you need to step out now so I can see you,” said Crane, hoping a sight of normality would appear before him: a member of the crew, a stowaway . . . easier to defend himself when fighting a solid form.
There was no response, verbal or physical. No one stepped out to reveal themselves to Seaview’s captain. With no other choice left, Crane knew he had to search the reactor room.
At first glance, the room looked empty but there were places to hide from view, to wait . . . With a light step, little noise made, Crane moved forward, gaze flicking left then right, searching. Catching a shadow of movement in his peripheral, Crane turned quickly to face what he knew, with sudden clarity, was a threat, not only to his sanity but his life . . . his skin tingling with the sensation of dread.
There was nothing there, the area in front of him empty, no immediate threat to the captain of Seaview. There was nothing creeping its way toward him, nothing formatting a silent attack while his back was turned.
He felt a moment of reprieve, a feeling he couldn’t explain . . . couldn’t explain the feeling of a life threatened . . . his own. It was as though he had expected someone or something to jump out of the dark shadows to attack him.
A nagging worry bit at the base of his skull. He wasn’t confident, uncertain he should complete a search of the reactor room. Instinct had saved his life on more than one occasion and right now, instinct was telling him to turn and run but he couldn’t, the bulkhead door unmovable.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the feeling and turned back to face the reactor.
Something slammed into him, knocking him back and off his feet. He hit the floor hard, groaning in response when the pain burst through his shoulders and the back of his skull.
Everything disappeared, an empty space . . .
. . . a sudden return, body twitching, jerking with awareness, Crane understanding he had blacked out, a short loss of consciousness. For how long, he didn’t know.
Turning onto his side, Crane felt dizzy, a few agonising seconds of disorientation as the room spun, the slow methodical movement creating a feeling of nausea. When the sickening movement finally stopped, he took a slow, deep breath and pushed his body up onto hands and knees. With his head hanging low, Crane continued to breathe and when he was ready, he stood up.
He stumbled, falling back . . . falling to the floor. Closing his eyes, Crane lay still, unwilling to make a second attempt to stand.
Footsteps, the sound rushing past him once more. Another cold embrace.
Eyes snapping open, Crane turned his head, his gaze resting on the form standing a short distance away, their features hidden by the shadows clinging to the room; a small child wearing a long dress decorated with pale, yellow flowers. She drifted toward him . . . closer
No.
She flashed out of existence, as though she had never been there. As though she had been the result of his imagination . . . or a brain injury. Closed his eyes.
His head ached, the pain sharp and heavy at the back of his skull. Nausea rolled through his stomach as he swallowed back the bile rising into his throat. Crane slowed his breathing, short static breaths as he waited for the side effects of what he assumed to be a concussion to pass. Knew they wouldn’t pass anytime soon, hours, days for the symptoms to ease.
He didn’t have that long.
He had to leave.
Now.
Before she came back.
Opening his eyes, Crane shifted back onto his side and pushed his body up onto unsteady legs. Locking his knees in place, he managed to stay upright. Vision blurry, his gaze faltering, his equilibrium tripped and fell as he searched the room for . . . for what?
A child.
An apparition.
A side effect of a head injury.
An explanation.
He didn’t understand the situation. He didn’t understand why it was happening. He couldn’t identify the child or comprehend why she was here. He didn’t know why she had chosen him. Didn’t know what she was; history aboard the Seaview told him she could be anything: an apparition, an alien . . . just because she looked human, it didn’t mean she was.
Too many questions . . . questions he couldn’t answer, no available information.
The sound of footsteps, no longer rushed, came from somewhere behind him.
Crane turned his upper body, his head . . . a shadow of movement.
A solid blow against his back, forcing him forward. Balance broken, he fell, the landing less painful than the last but it still hurt, more than it should. On his stomach, Crane took an explorative deep breath. No new injuries; only increased pain, the pain in his skull now close to unbearable. Thinking, concentrating on what he had to do to escape . . . to survive was becoming a challenge
He lifted his head.
In front of him . . . too close . . . small feet enclosed in black boots, the laces tangled in tight knots.
And then she moved, walking away from him, distance revealing more of her: her feet, her legs, bony hips, her back, blonde hair . . . her face as she turned to face him. Neck straining with effort, he could only watch as she smiled, straight white teeth, blue eyes bright. She looked normal, real . . .
She rushed toward him, booted feet slapping against the floor.
Without thinking, Crane reacted, snapping his body away. Expecting a painful collision, he kept moving, crawling away as fast as the vertigo filling his skull would allow. Struggled to find his bearings, his location in the reactor room. Gaze frantic, he saw the red glow of the reactor tubes to his right . . . then the bulkhead door was to his left.
He stumbled upright, running to the door. Clumsy fingers gripped the handle, every effort made to turn it. The door still refused to open. He slammed a closed fist against the metal, an attempt to gain attention. Hit the door a second time, a third. About to use his voice, to call out for help, Crane remembered Seaview’s intercom system.
Moving to the left, he reached for handset, pulling it from its hook and raising it to his mouth. Pressing the button Crane said, “Admiral, this is Crane.”
Released the button and waited. Seconds passing.
A second attempt. “Admiral Nelson, this is Crane.”
“Lee,” said Nelson.
The relief was strong, his shoulders falling, body relaxing. Wasn’t sure what he had expected, couldn’t be sure the intercom still worked . . .
“Have you located the problem in the reactor room?”
He couldn’t remember why he had come to the reactor room, everything a blur, a heavy fog. Crane struggled to think, to remember, his thoughts, his memory fighting to escape. The pain pounded through his skull, his body tilting, his balance insecure . . .
“Lee?”
Leaning against the wall, Crane wasn’t sure what he should say, what he could say, not sure, Nelson would believe him if he told the Admiral there was a young girl in the reactor room; a young girl who had so far, managed to give Seaview’s captain a concussion. He didn’t really have a choice, unable to leave the room on his own, the door locked.
Pressed the intercom button and said, “There’s someone here . . . a little girl . . .”
A sudden drop, his body violently pulled away from the wall, the ground beneath him lost. His body wrapped in a cold embrace he flew through the air, falling . . . back hitting the wall on the far side of the reactor room. A sharp cry of pain as he felt something break, the pain exploding through his back and chest as he dropped to the floor.
A short, broken breath . . . his ribs damaged, cracked or broken, it didn’t matter, the pain the same, both debilitating, making it harder to breathe. On his side, Crane lay still, unwilling or unable to move, he didn’t know which.
Allowing his gaze to wander, he looked for the little girl in the flower pattern dress. She stood beside the intercom system, the handset swinging left to right, a slow movement. A step taken toward him, she smiled.
“What do you want?”
She skipped forward, boots scuffing the floor. In a vulnerable position, Crane pushed his body up. No strength to go further, he leaned back against the wall, watching . . . willing her to stop before she reached him.
She didn’t.
With short, rapid breaths, the pain tight across his back, Crane watched as she moved closer, gaze following her every movement as she continued to skip toward him. She looked so normal . . . as though she had just stepped out of a happy family postcard, the colours of her dress too bright, her smile . . . her eyes . . .
She stopped beside him, looking down at him with a curious . . . no, not curious . . . a hungry stare. Fear creating a burst of adrenaline, Crane struggled to move away from her, heels scraping against the floor, searching for purchase. Body injured, he couldn’t move quickly enough.
She followed him, matching each of his movements with her own, easily keeping pace. His back hit something solid . . . a sharp stab of pain. Watched as she knelt down beside him, as she reached toward him . . .
A gentle touch against his left cheek, her skin soft . . . cold.
“I want your breath.”
Crane frowned, confused, not understanding her intent.
And then he felt it, a heavy weight in his chest as the air was pulled from his lungs. The simple act of breathing became a struggle, his lungs refusing to work, to take another breath. Crane turned, snapping his head away from her fingers, her touch removed . . . lungs heaved as he drew in a deep breath, the pain piercing through his back.
Understanding came quickly . . . her touch stole his breath.
He had to move away from her.
To create a safe distance.
He had to move.
Now.
He couldn’t, something solid behind him, the young girl too close to him. Instinct kicked in, Crane pushing forward as he used his left arm to push the small child away from him. A coldness wrapped around his chest as his hand brushed across her shoulder, warmth returning quickly when she fell back, away from him.
Pushing up onto legs trembling with weakness, Crane stumbled toward the bulkhead door, the vertigo he felt threatening to take him down. He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the door . . . the decision taken from him when a cold strength slammed into his back, throwing him forward. So close to the door, nothing else to stop his forward momentum, Crane hit the door, the obstacle unforgiving, an opposite reaction as he fell back, falling to the floor. Pain froze the breath in his lungs . . .
“I want your breath so I can live,” said the girl as she knelt down and reached for him once more, a cold touch as she rested her palm against the right side of his face.
His lungs stopped working.
Crane tried to move away, a difficult thing, the pain circling his chest and back, his skull heavy with a solid weight of pain. With each struggling breath, he felt the little strength he had leave him, an outgoing tide. Darkness circled his vision . . .
If he lost consciousness . . . understood death was waiting for him, reaching for him, embracing his body with long, thin fingers.
A noise behind him . . .
An abrupt departure, the girl standing and stepping away from him.
Death delayed, Crane took a breath and opened his eyes. Another breath . . . another . . . She stood beside him, looking down at him with an expression of disappointment. His body jerked with surprise when he heard something bang against the bulkhead door. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the girl, watching as she stepped back, turned and walked away from him, her thin form disappearing from his view.
“Lee!”
“Skipper! You in there?”
The voices muffled, Crane still recognised them: Nelson and Sharkey. His rescue party. He tried to think . . . understanding coming too slow . . . the door still locked, they would be inside the reactor room with him if they were able to open it.
It wasn’t over.
She was still here.
Somewhere.
“Lee! Bang on the door if you can hear me.”
He wanted to answer, to help . . . to explain his condition . . . to warn them of the threat to his life, body already injured, death already too close.
“Lee, if you can use the intercom.”
The intercom. He could see it, the object of communication not too far away; possible he could reach it. Rolling onto his side, Crane did everything he could to ignore the pain. Forced his body to move, getting up onto his hands and knees and crawled to the intercom. His breath short, ragged, he reached up, right hand grabbing the handset as his body collapsed back onto the floor. Pushed back, resting against the wall, the reactor room in front of him, able to see the girl if she returned.
“Admiral . . .”
“Lee! What’s going on? We can’t get the door open.”
A sharp, short breath. “You need to find another way.”
“Is everything all right? Are you all right?”
“She’s trying . . . she’s trying to kill me.”
“Who? Lee, what are you talking about?”
“You have to find a way to get in.”
“Skipper, we can burn the lock off, open the door that way.”
Crane shook his head and said, “No . . . it won’t work. Find another way. Before she kills me.”
“All right, Lee. We can cut a hole through the wall but it’s going to take time.”
Nodding in acceptance, Crane dropped the handset. A slow breath as he tried to calculate the time it would take; too long, the minutes would feel like an eternity.
A soft humming filled the room, a child’s voice, the tune familiar. A childhood memory . . .
She stepped out of the shadows, crossing the room as she continued to hum, the sound slowly morphing into words, her voice gentle, rhythmic as she sang. Recognition dawned as the words broke through the pain filling his skull . . .
Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea.
Hands clasped behind her back, she stepped toward him.
Was the bottom of the deep blue chop, chop, chop.
Another step, taking her time.
Was the bottom of the deep blue knee, knee, knee.
Anxiety a painful knot in his chest, Crane began to move, to keep her at a distance. He could already hear the cutting equipment, Kowalski the best man for the job, always quick, efficient. But he needed time to cut through the wall. Time Crane had to create, he needed to stay alive long enough for them to get to him.
Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, chop . . .
He needed to stay alive long enough to survive an encounter he couldn’t understand or explain.
chop . . .
And then what? What could they do to protect him? What could they do that he couldn’t to save his life.
chop . . .
Her body snapped forward, too quickly for Crane to avoid her touch. Felt her fingers wrapping around his left ankle, a bitter cold crawling the length of his calf, through his thigh. She pulled him away from the wall, an abrupt movement, his upper body collapsing, falling, head striking the floor.
For a brief moment, Crane lost his sight, the threat of unconsciousness looming as she dragged him deeper into the shadows of the reactor room. Blinked, vision returning, the anxiety building as she released his ankle, leg dropping. He tried to move but he had no strength left . . . no time left.
She stepped around him, kneeling by his side. A gentle smile of understanding as she reached down, small hand cupping the side of his face. The effect immediate . . . Crane couldn’t breathe, his lungs no longer working.
As she took his breath, her entire appearance began to change. The colours of her dress began to fade, to darken, yellows turning grey . . . black. Her face withered, aging as her body grew in length and height.
She stood up.
No.
The child was gone.
The girl was gone.
In her place a man stood, face lined with age, the dress replaced by a black suit, a white shirt . . . a thin black tie. He turned and walked away, stopping as he looked back at Crane.
And as he disappeared from Crane’s view, he said, “I have what I came for. You can die now.”
What just happened?
Crane didn’t know.
Couldn’t explain it.
He couldn’t understand it.
There were no answers.
He could hear them: the admiral, Sharkey, Kowalski, their voices filled with panic, with fear.
Waited for death to take him as his lungs continued the fight to breathe, to fight for another breath, an attempt to prolong life. They were losing the battle.
His life was lost.
Knew he would lose consciousness first.
Nothing more he could do after that.
Felt the hands on his body.
“He’s not breathing.”
“Doc!”
Too late.
Darkness exploded around him.
.
.
.
“That’s it lad, keep breathing.”
Crane opened his eyes.
He felt the hard floor beneath him. The pain pounding through his skull, his back . . . his chest.
Felt the warm touch of someone’s hand resting on his forehead.
“That’s all you need to do right now, Lee. Breathe.”
Still alive.
Shifted his gaze, vision faltering as he searched the faces hovering over him, gaze settling on Seaview’s doctor, looking for an explanation, an understanding.
Sharkey, never one to hold back, smiled and said, “CPR, Skipper. Doc gave you the kiss of life.”
Turned his head toward Nelson.
Through blurred vision, he could see the relief on Nelson’s features, the damp emotion in his eyes.
“Just keep breathing, Lee,” said Nelson. “Keep breathing.”
Crane closed his eyes and drew in a slow shallow breath . . . another breath.
Kept breathing.
Previous | Next
An Organised List of Chapters
Fandom: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (TV Series)
Genre: Hurt/
Rating: PG
Main Characters: Captain Lee Crane.
Disclaimers: Based on the characters created by Irwin Allen.
Challenge:
Challenge: Written for The
spook_me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon 2018.Chapter Word Count: 3,399
Status: Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone story.
Summary: Commander Lee Crane, Captain of the Seaview, thought he lived a dangerous life . . . and then he met me; a writer whose only purpose in life is to physically and emotionally whump Lee Crane in a descriptive and bloody manner in a collection of short stories.
Chapter Three
Prompt: Captured/Trapped and Ghost
Genre: Hurt/
Chapter Summary: Locked in the reactor room with no way out, Captain Lee Crane fights to survive an encounter he can’t explain or understand.
Captain Crane turned in surprise as the bulkhead door closed behind him, the handle spinning, locking into place. There was no reason for the door to close, no cause; he knew he was alone, no one on the other side of the door . . . no one to shut and lock it after he entered the reactor room.
Frowning with confusion, he moved slowly, with careful intent back toward the door. Hands gripping the handle, he tried to open it. It wouldn’t move, the door refusing to yield beneath a strength of stubborn concentration. Giving in, for now, he stepped back from the bulkhead door.
The lights flickered, Crane looking up as the darkness broke through, filling the reactor room, the sudden change causing a moment of blindness before the light returned.
A sound to his right, something scratching against a metal surface.
Crane turned his head, gaze searching for the source of the sound.
Muttered footsteps rushed past him, a bitter coldness embracing him as the sound of footsteps moved away from him, further into the room, Crane turning his head, his gaze to follow the sound. Felt the warmth return to his body.
With a feeling of dread, Crane realised he wasn’t alone.
There was someone else in the room.
Even though he’d seen no one, no physical form to match the sound of footsteps.
Hoping to see someone . . . something, anything to prove his mind hadn’t taken a wrong turn, now possible it was travelling a road toward insanity, Crane turned slowly to face the room, a wider range of sight, anxiety crawling across his skin.
Light bulbs shattered, darkness erupting, returning to fill the reactor room.
Their covers confining the glass fragments, stopping them from causing harm and injury, Crane still flinched with surprise, the breath catching in his throat, his body bending forward as his arms, his hands reached up to protect his head and face. He couldn’t ignore the obvious; all of the light bulbs exploding at the same time, not a coincidence Crane was certain.
When nothing more happened, Crane lowered his arms and stood upright, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the change of light, the room stretching out before him, a muted shape of unpleasant darkness. As the darkness slowly retreated to a safe distance, the red glow of the reactor rods his only source of light, Crane shivered, an uncomfortable feeling crawling across his skin. He could feel a sense of emptiness, of loneliness.
Crane continued to wait, unsure if the sound of footsteps would return.
Still nothing.
“If there’s someone here, you need to step out now so I can see you,” said Crane, hoping a sight of normality would appear before him: a member of the crew, a stowaway . . . easier to defend himself when fighting a solid form.
There was no response, verbal or physical. No one stepped out to reveal themselves to Seaview’s captain. With no other choice left, Crane knew he had to search the reactor room.
At first glance, the room looked empty but there were places to hide from view, to wait . . . With a light step, little noise made, Crane moved forward, gaze flicking left then right, searching. Catching a shadow of movement in his peripheral, Crane turned quickly to face what he knew, with sudden clarity, was a threat, not only to his sanity but his life . . . his skin tingling with the sensation of dread.
There was nothing there, the area in front of him empty, no immediate threat to the captain of Seaview. There was nothing creeping its way toward him, nothing formatting a silent attack while his back was turned.
He felt a moment of reprieve, a feeling he couldn’t explain . . . couldn’t explain the feeling of a life threatened . . . his own. It was as though he had expected someone or something to jump out of the dark shadows to attack him.
A nagging worry bit at the base of his skull. He wasn’t confident, uncertain he should complete a search of the reactor room. Instinct had saved his life on more than one occasion and right now, instinct was telling him to turn and run but he couldn’t, the bulkhead door unmovable.
Shaking his head, he dismissed the feeling and turned back to face the reactor.
Something slammed into him, knocking him back and off his feet. He hit the floor hard, groaning in response when the pain burst through his shoulders and the back of his skull.
Everything disappeared, an empty space . . .
. . . a sudden return, body twitching, jerking with awareness, Crane understanding he had blacked out, a short loss of consciousness. For how long, he didn’t know.
Turning onto his side, Crane felt dizzy, a few agonising seconds of disorientation as the room spun, the slow methodical movement creating a feeling of nausea. When the sickening movement finally stopped, he took a slow, deep breath and pushed his body up onto hands and knees. With his head hanging low, Crane continued to breathe and when he was ready, he stood up.
He stumbled, falling back . . . falling to the floor. Closing his eyes, Crane lay still, unwilling to make a second attempt to stand.
Footsteps, the sound rushing past him once more. Another cold embrace.
Eyes snapping open, Crane turned his head, his gaze resting on the form standing a short distance away, their features hidden by the shadows clinging to the room; a small child wearing a long dress decorated with pale, yellow flowers. She drifted toward him . . . closer
No.
She flashed out of existence, as though she had never been there. As though she had been the result of his imagination . . . or a brain injury. Closed his eyes.
His head ached, the pain sharp and heavy at the back of his skull. Nausea rolled through his stomach as he swallowed back the bile rising into his throat. Crane slowed his breathing, short static breaths as he waited for the side effects of what he assumed to be a concussion to pass. Knew they wouldn’t pass anytime soon, hours, days for the symptoms to ease.
He didn’t have that long.
He had to leave.
Now.
Before she came back.
Opening his eyes, Crane shifted back onto his side and pushed his body up onto unsteady legs. Locking his knees in place, he managed to stay upright. Vision blurry, his gaze faltering, his equilibrium tripped and fell as he searched the room for . . . for what?
A child.
An apparition.
A side effect of a head injury.
An explanation.
He didn’t understand the situation. He didn’t understand why it was happening. He couldn’t identify the child or comprehend why she was here. He didn’t know why she had chosen him. Didn’t know what she was; history aboard the Seaview told him she could be anything: an apparition, an alien . . . just because she looked human, it didn’t mean she was.
Too many questions . . . questions he couldn’t answer, no available information.
The sound of footsteps, no longer rushed, came from somewhere behind him.
Crane turned his upper body, his head . . . a shadow of movement.
A solid blow against his back, forcing him forward. Balance broken, he fell, the landing less painful than the last but it still hurt, more than it should. On his stomach, Crane took an explorative deep breath. No new injuries; only increased pain, the pain in his skull now close to unbearable. Thinking, concentrating on what he had to do to escape . . . to survive was becoming a challenge
He lifted his head.
In front of him . . . too close . . . small feet enclosed in black boots, the laces tangled in tight knots.
And then she moved, walking away from him, distance revealing more of her: her feet, her legs, bony hips, her back, blonde hair . . . her face as she turned to face him. Neck straining with effort, he could only watch as she smiled, straight white teeth, blue eyes bright. She looked normal, real . . .
She rushed toward him, booted feet slapping against the floor.
Without thinking, Crane reacted, snapping his body away. Expecting a painful collision, he kept moving, crawling away as fast as the vertigo filling his skull would allow. Struggled to find his bearings, his location in the reactor room. Gaze frantic, he saw the red glow of the reactor tubes to his right . . . then the bulkhead door was to his left.
He stumbled upright, running to the door. Clumsy fingers gripped the handle, every effort made to turn it. The door still refused to open. He slammed a closed fist against the metal, an attempt to gain attention. Hit the door a second time, a third. About to use his voice, to call out for help, Crane remembered Seaview’s intercom system.
Moving to the left, he reached for handset, pulling it from its hook and raising it to his mouth. Pressing the button Crane said, “Admiral, this is Crane.”
Released the button and waited. Seconds passing.
A second attempt. “Admiral Nelson, this is Crane.”
“Lee,” said Nelson.
The relief was strong, his shoulders falling, body relaxing. Wasn’t sure what he had expected, couldn’t be sure the intercom still worked . . .
“Have you located the problem in the reactor room?”
He couldn’t remember why he had come to the reactor room, everything a blur, a heavy fog. Crane struggled to think, to remember, his thoughts, his memory fighting to escape. The pain pounded through his skull, his body tilting, his balance insecure . . .
“Lee?”
Leaning against the wall, Crane wasn’t sure what he should say, what he could say, not sure, Nelson would believe him if he told the Admiral there was a young girl in the reactor room; a young girl who had so far, managed to give Seaview’s captain a concussion. He didn’t really have a choice, unable to leave the room on his own, the door locked.
Pressed the intercom button and said, “There’s someone here . . . a little girl . . .”
A sudden drop, his body violently pulled away from the wall, the ground beneath him lost. His body wrapped in a cold embrace he flew through the air, falling . . . back hitting the wall on the far side of the reactor room. A sharp cry of pain as he felt something break, the pain exploding through his back and chest as he dropped to the floor.
A short, broken breath . . . his ribs damaged, cracked or broken, it didn’t matter, the pain the same, both debilitating, making it harder to breathe. On his side, Crane lay still, unwilling or unable to move, he didn’t know which.
Allowing his gaze to wander, he looked for the little girl in the flower pattern dress. She stood beside the intercom system, the handset swinging left to right, a slow movement. A step taken toward him, she smiled.
“What do you want?”
She skipped forward, boots scuffing the floor. In a vulnerable position, Crane pushed his body up. No strength to go further, he leaned back against the wall, watching . . . willing her to stop before she reached him.
She didn’t.
With short, rapid breaths, the pain tight across his back, Crane watched as she moved closer, gaze following her every movement as she continued to skip toward him. She looked so normal . . . as though she had just stepped out of a happy family postcard, the colours of her dress too bright, her smile . . . her eyes . . .
She stopped beside him, looking down at him with a curious . . . no, not curious . . . a hungry stare. Fear creating a burst of adrenaline, Crane struggled to move away from her, heels scraping against the floor, searching for purchase. Body injured, he couldn’t move quickly enough.
She followed him, matching each of his movements with her own, easily keeping pace. His back hit something solid . . . a sharp stab of pain. Watched as she knelt down beside him, as she reached toward him . . .
A gentle touch against his left cheek, her skin soft . . . cold.
“I want your breath.”
Crane frowned, confused, not understanding her intent.
And then he felt it, a heavy weight in his chest as the air was pulled from his lungs. The simple act of breathing became a struggle, his lungs refusing to work, to take another breath. Crane turned, snapping his head away from her fingers, her touch removed . . . lungs heaved as he drew in a deep breath, the pain piercing through his back.
Understanding came quickly . . . her touch stole his breath.
He had to move away from her.
To create a safe distance.
He had to move.
Now.
He couldn’t, something solid behind him, the young girl too close to him. Instinct kicked in, Crane pushing forward as he used his left arm to push the small child away from him. A coldness wrapped around his chest as his hand brushed across her shoulder, warmth returning quickly when she fell back, away from him.
Pushing up onto legs trembling with weakness, Crane stumbled toward the bulkhead door, the vertigo he felt threatening to take him down. He didn’t know what he would do when he reached the door . . . the decision taken from him when a cold strength slammed into his back, throwing him forward. So close to the door, nothing else to stop his forward momentum, Crane hit the door, the obstacle unforgiving, an opposite reaction as he fell back, falling to the floor. Pain froze the breath in his lungs . . .
“I want your breath so I can live,” said the girl as she knelt down and reached for him once more, a cold touch as she rested her palm against the right side of his face.
His lungs stopped working.
Crane tried to move away, a difficult thing, the pain circling his chest and back, his skull heavy with a solid weight of pain. With each struggling breath, he felt the little strength he had leave him, an outgoing tide. Darkness circled his vision . . .
If he lost consciousness . . . understood death was waiting for him, reaching for him, embracing his body with long, thin fingers.
A noise behind him . . .
An abrupt departure, the girl standing and stepping away from him.
Death delayed, Crane took a breath and opened his eyes. Another breath . . . another . . . She stood beside him, looking down at him with an expression of disappointment. His body jerked with surprise when he heard something bang against the bulkhead door. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the girl, watching as she stepped back, turned and walked away from him, her thin form disappearing from his view.
“Lee!”
“Skipper! You in there?”
The voices muffled, Crane still recognised them: Nelson and Sharkey. His rescue party. He tried to think . . . understanding coming too slow . . . the door still locked, they would be inside the reactor room with him if they were able to open it.
It wasn’t over.
She was still here.
Somewhere.
“Lee! Bang on the door if you can hear me.”
He wanted to answer, to help . . . to explain his condition . . . to warn them of the threat to his life, body already injured, death already too close.
“Lee, if you can use the intercom.”
The intercom. He could see it, the object of communication not too far away; possible he could reach it. Rolling onto his side, Crane did everything he could to ignore the pain. Forced his body to move, getting up onto his hands and knees and crawled to the intercom. His breath short, ragged, he reached up, right hand grabbing the handset as his body collapsed back onto the floor. Pushed back, resting against the wall, the reactor room in front of him, able to see the girl if she returned.
“Admiral . . .”
“Lee! What’s going on? We can’t get the door open.”
A sharp, short breath. “You need to find another way.”
“Is everything all right? Are you all right?”
“She’s trying . . . she’s trying to kill me.”
“Who? Lee, what are you talking about?”
“You have to find a way to get in.”
“Skipper, we can burn the lock off, open the door that way.”
Crane shook his head and said, “No . . . it won’t work. Find another way. Before she kills me.”
“All right, Lee. We can cut a hole through the wall but it’s going to take time.”
Nodding in acceptance, Crane dropped the handset. A slow breath as he tried to calculate the time it would take; too long, the minutes would feel like an eternity.
A soft humming filled the room, a child’s voice, the tune familiar. A childhood memory . . .
She stepped out of the shadows, crossing the room as she continued to hum, the sound slowly morphing into words, her voice gentle, rhythmic as she sang. Recognition dawned as the words broke through the pain filling his skull . . .
Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea.
Hands clasped behind her back, she stepped toward him.
Was the bottom of the deep blue chop, chop, chop.
Another step, taking her time.
Was the bottom of the deep blue knee, knee, knee.
Anxiety a painful knot in his chest, Crane began to move, to keep her at a distance. He could already hear the cutting equipment, Kowalski the best man for the job, always quick, efficient. But he needed time to cut through the wall. Time Crane had to create, he needed to stay alive long enough for them to get to him.
Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, chop . . .
He needed to stay alive long enough to survive an encounter he couldn’t understand or explain.
chop . . .
And then what? What could they do to protect him? What could they do that he couldn’t to save his life.
chop . . .
Her body snapped forward, too quickly for Crane to avoid her touch. Felt her fingers wrapping around his left ankle, a bitter cold crawling the length of his calf, through his thigh. She pulled him away from the wall, an abrupt movement, his upper body collapsing, falling, head striking the floor.
For a brief moment, Crane lost his sight, the threat of unconsciousness looming as she dragged him deeper into the shadows of the reactor room. Blinked, vision returning, the anxiety building as she released his ankle, leg dropping. He tried to move but he had no strength left . . . no time left.
She stepped around him, kneeling by his side. A gentle smile of understanding as she reached down, small hand cupping the side of his face. The effect immediate . . . Crane couldn’t breathe, his lungs no longer working.
As she took his breath, her entire appearance began to change. The colours of her dress began to fade, to darken, yellows turning grey . . . black. Her face withered, aging as her body grew in length and height.
She stood up.
No.
The child was gone.
The girl was gone.
In her place a man stood, face lined with age, the dress replaced by a black suit, a white shirt . . . a thin black tie. He turned and walked away, stopping as he looked back at Crane.
And as he disappeared from Crane’s view, he said, “I have what I came for. You can die now.”
What just happened?
Crane didn’t know.
Couldn’t explain it.
He couldn’t understand it.
There were no answers.
He could hear them: the admiral, Sharkey, Kowalski, their voices filled with panic, with fear.
Waited for death to take him as his lungs continued the fight to breathe, to fight for another breath, an attempt to prolong life. They were losing the battle.
His life was lost.
Knew he would lose consciousness first.
Nothing more he could do after that.
Felt the hands on his body.
“He’s not breathing.”
“Doc!”
Too late.
Darkness exploded around him.
.
.
.
“That’s it lad, keep breathing.”
Crane opened his eyes.
He felt the hard floor beneath him. The pain pounding through his skull, his back . . . his chest.
Felt the warm touch of someone’s hand resting on his forehead.
“That’s all you need to do right now, Lee. Breathe.”
Still alive.
Shifted his gaze, vision faltering as he searched the faces hovering over him, gaze settling on Seaview’s doctor, looking for an explanation, an understanding.
Sharkey, never one to hold back, smiled and said, “CPR, Skipper. Doc gave you the kiss of life.”
Turned his head toward Nelson.
Through blurred vision, he could see the relief on Nelson’s features, the damp emotion in his eyes.
“Just keep breathing, Lee,” said Nelson. “Keep breathing.”
Crane closed his eyes and drew in a slow shallow breath . . . another breath.
Kept breathing.
An Organised List of Chapters