PARADISE FOUND
Chapter One
*~*~*~*~*~*
Julian Crane grumbled when he heard the phone ring at the
ungodly hour of three AM. He opened his eyes to peer at the
woman lying next to him, as she tried to pretend she didn't
hear the phone and was doing quite a bad job of it.
With an exasperated snarl, he reached over and picked up the
receiver. "Hello?" he answered grouchily, annoyed beyond all
measure. To hell with Rebecca, he was the one who needed
his beauty rest, so this had better be something out of the
ordinary.
He wasn't disappointed. He listened to the voice on the other
end of the phone and bolted upright in bed, horrified.
"WHAT?" he cried, ignoring Rebecca's wide eyes. "What do you
mean she never arrived? Why ... she should have been there
hours ago!"
Another moment of garbled replies and Julian slammed down the
phone in frustration. "Damn it to hell," he muttered,
running a shaking hand over his face.
"Darling, what's wrong?" asked Rebecca fearfully.
"My sister, Sheridan. Her plane never arrived in Tahiti.
It's missing."
Julian swallowed hard, feeling for possibly the first time in
life, frightened for his sister. There was little or no love
lost between them, but in truth, the poor girl deserved
better than to die in a plane crash. His eyes stung and he
blinked away any ridiculous, errant tears that might have
dared to fall.
"Oh darling," said Rebecca, with a strange compassion,
although Julian knew in his heart of hearts, it an act of
Oscar-winning proportions. "How simply dreadful."
"Yes, it is dreadful," said Julian, snatching up his robe.
He angrily slid into it and proceeded to head out the door.
Rebecca gaped at him. "But darling, where are you going?"
Julian shot her a withering look. "I'm going to find my
sister. Whether you or my father or anyone else likes it or
not."
A warm wind played over Luis face and he groaned.
His head was pounding and he didn't dare open his eyes, no
not yet. In his imagination things were quite bad, a limb
here, the rest of him there, everything else broken to bits.
Luis knew through his police training that pain wasn't
necessarily a bad thing, especially when you took into
account its alternative.
Finally, he squinted through one eye, surprised to see what
looked like sunlight. Well, that's better than "The Light" he
thought wryly, as a hacking cough racked his lungs. The taste
of salt water on his tongue and he wondered where he was. It
was far too warm to be anywhere near the US and the palm
tress to his left indicated that the plane's navigation
system had gone terribly wrong somewhere down the line.
It was a miracle he wasn't dead, and his stomach lurched when
he remembered that he hadn't been the only one on that plane.
He sat up, ignoring the wrenching pain in his side.
"Sheridan!" he cried. He spat a bit of sand out of his mouth
and tried again. "SHERIDAN! Are you here? Is anyone here?
Sheridan!"
Oh no. No, no ... dear God no. If he'd survived, she must
have too. She'd been right next to him, in his arms, and he
swore they were going to make it, somehow. She *must* be
alive, she *had* to be.
Because if not, his being alive made no difference.
If Sheridan was dead, he was going to die right along with
her, no matter what.
Sheridan's head hurt. No wait, that was an understatement.
Her head felt like it had been placed in a vice, kicked like
a football, then shoved into a washing machine set on "spin"
a few million times.
No ... hold on ... it felt worse than that. Much worse.
Memories of the crash came floating back and she vaguely
remembered the chill of water against her skin, the sensation
of floating, and of Luis holding onto her, telling her they
were going to make it and that she just had to hang on, hang
on just one minute longer.
The minute had passed and Luis ... oh dear God, Luis. Oh
please, please, don't let him be dead, she thought, rising
and ignoring the pain that ripped through her skull, nearly
causing her to fall. She staggered a step forward, then
tripped over a large lump laying on the ground.
She fought to catch her balance and looked down, horrified to
see the pilot's body, dead in the sand. A shriek caught in
her throat, and she looked around wildly, panicking. "LUIS!"
she screamed, her vocal cords feeling as if they'd been
sanded.
Oh, what if he were dead as well, she thought, as a terrible
wave of guilt washed over her. What if Luis were dead and
their last memories were of them fighting with one another?
What if Luis had died thinking she no longer loved him when
nothing further could have been from the truth?
What if he thought he'd died truly and utterly alone?
She shook her head, sobbing. No love, you won't die alone.
Never.
Because I'll be there, right along with you.
*~*~*~*~*~*~
continued in Chapter Two
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