Chapter 6

The next morning found Tim sitting on a chair in his room, staring out at the heaving sea. The storm had come during the night and the weather was still wild and gray. He hadn't been able to sleep much that night, too many thoughts running through his mind... an endless comparison between Jethro and his team...and the cause of both near-disasters.

When he'd first reached the hotel, it had been easy enough to stop thinking about it. Jethro was soaking; he was soaking. They both needed baths...and to get dry. However, once that had been done, the possibility of serious bodily injury hit him again. Of course, there was no guarantee that he would have been seriously injured had he dashed out after Jethro's ball...a cheap ragged tennis ball, so easily replaced. The drop off wasn't permanent. It was a large pockmark in the rock, and judging by the way the water had been moving, it probably had been etched to make a tunnel to the open ocean. The smaller holes over the rest of the stretch weren't everywhere. He could have easily missed them. ...but... Even though the guarantee wasn't there, it was all Tim could think about. Just the possibility that he could have been hurt, even killed if he had been stuck out there long enough was a thought that made his blood run cold.

The conflation of the two events was such that his mind traced the path from getting stuck during high tide on the beach to that strange slow motion of Louisa Grady pulling the gun up toward his face, her eyes shifting from manic to murderous in a split second...and him unable to do anything about it. Unable. Totally and completely. ...and he hadn't wanted to do anything about it either. It was...a moment of utter disbelief.

Louisa wouldn't have... Tim had to stop the thought because he knew it was a lie. He knew it deep down inside him. Louisa would have. The only thing that had stopped her were the three bullets fired by people who had protected him at the expense of her life.

"It's like I killed her, Jethro. ...even though I couldn't." He slid off the chair to the floor, sitting beside his sleeping pet. "You saved me. They saved me. ...from myself. ...and it's like I killed her." Tim's heart clenched painfully. "Why do I care so much, Jethro? Why was I so determined to go after your stupid ball when I could just as easily use one of the others that I have here? Why couldn't I stop Louisa? Why couldn't I save her? Why did I want to save her? Did I? If I really did, wouldn't I have done something? Something right?"

Tim's petting of Jethro finally woke him up. He yawned and stretched before licking Tim's face.

"How about it, Jethro?" Tim asked, wiping away the tears that had fallen unnoticed before. "You want to brave the outdoors again?"

Jethro sat on his haunches, staring at Tim, as if assessing his master's status. He cocked his head to the side and whined a little.

"I don't know, Jethro. It would be nice if you could just tell me what was wrong and how I could fix myself. I don't know what to do, what to say."

Jethro licked Tim's face again. Tim smiled and wiped at his face.

"I try to tell myself that you do that because you love me...but sometimes, I'd swear you're just tasting me to see if I'm ready for consumption yet." There was an unsettled feeling in his chest which hadn't dissipated at all, but Tim tried to dismiss it. "You want to go out? I promise to be more careful this time."

Jethro stared at him for a bit longer and then barked and trotted off to get his leash. He was not so excited as he had been the day before. It seemed almost as if he were doing it for Tim rather than the other way around. It made Tim wonder if his dog had that much insight into his psyche. Still, once they got to the beach, Jethro was as excited as he'd been before to play in the surf. He did his business first, but then he ran and played in the welling waves. Tim walked along, the misting rain which still fell barely registering on his senses. His mind wasn't on the weather. It wasn't even on his dog. It had been drawn, once again, onto the whole reason he was there.

Why is this so difficult? I know everyone's worried about me. I know they think there's a problem. ...why can't I see it? Why can't someone just tell me what they think is wrong and tell me what to do to get over it?

Jethro was suddenly winding himself around Tim's legs, nearly tripping him up. Tim looked down and sighed.

"Jethro, you're making me realize just why I have no desire to actually live on the seashore. I'd have to give you a bath every single day."

Jethro demonstrated his disdain for that pronouncement by shaking himself vigorously, showering Tim with saltwater.

"You know, I don't know why people like beaches so much. Ocean water is smelly. It's dangerous. ...and when the beach is warm, it's crowded. What's so great about it?"

Jethro went down on his front legs, sticking his rear end up in the air and wagging his tail. Tim crouched beside him and sighed. Jethro nudged him gently and Tim tipped backward onto the wet sand.

"Now, what was that for?"

Jethro wuffled and settled himself in the sand beside Tim, putting his head in Tim's lap. Tim stared at him for a few seconds and then gave in to the obvious demand, relaxing on the sand and petting Jethro gently as the two of them watched the wild waves. It was a mild storm compared to some of the winter storms that hit the Oregon coast from time to time, but the waves were impressive enough to keep them both occupied. Nor were they the only ones on the beach. A few diehards took walks along the shore. Some others appeared to be appreciating the display of nature. Tim and Jethro were left in their solitary contemplation, however.

The ocean seemed so wild, so...so free. It didn't have this confusion, this difficulty. The ocean rolled in. It rolled out. Nothing more. Nothing held it back. The ocean went where it wanted to go.

Tim watched it with more than a bit of envy. He knew that was silly, being envious of something inanimate, but it was true. He had felt as though he'd been adrift ever since that day in the prison, as if he didn't know what to do with himself. It was nothing extreme, nothing dramatic. It was just a general feeling of dislocation...as if he himself was under the power of the sea, being tossed to and fro.

Gradually, the rain stopped and the clouds thinned. The wind continued and the waves were as wild as they had been before. Even if it had been warmer, the ocean would have been unsafe for swimmers.

"Louisa would have killed me," he whispered. "If no one had stopped her, she would have. Why doesn't that matter? It should, Jethro. I don't want to die."

The dog's ears pricked at his name, but he was content to lay on Tim's legs.

"There's something wrong with me."

Jethro stirred slightly.

"There's something wrong with me, Jethro," he repeated and then laughed. "I need to talk to someone who can talk back. Would you get off my legs, please?"

Jethro stood obediently and then trotted beside Tim as he headed back to the hotel, brushing the sand off his pants as he went.

"I'll bet you're hungry anyway. We didn't eat breakfast before heading to the beach. That wasn't smart, was it."

Jethro sneezed. Whether he meant anything beyond that he had sand in his nose, Tim didn't know.

"Okay. You need to eat. I need to eat. We can do that. I shouldn't call anyone until the evening anyway. They'll all...be working." His stride faltered for a moment before he continued in a determined gait. "It's okay. It will be okay. It will." He nodded too many times for that to be quite believable.

Once inside, he focused on feeding himself and Jethro...and on getting rid of the ocean stink. Then, he decided that it would be better to go and see some of the sites rather than sit around in his room waiting for the time when he could call someone back in DC and talk.

He didn't know what he'd say, but he figured it would be better to stumble over his words than run the risk of killing himself...out of his own wrong-headedness.