With the Wind | A Short Novel

With the Wind

by:

Judith Cropula

PROLOGUE

Tuesday, December 26, 2004

              Something was wrong. 

             
Daniel couldn't pin point exactly what; something was in the air, something he couldn't put his finger on, something he didn't like.

             
He tried to push those thoughts away as he cracked his eyes open.  His little hotel room was dank and the fan ran only at half speed.  The smell of boiling rice and fish wafted in through his cracked window. 

             
He knew he shouldn't have partied as much the night before but he was celebrating. A hang over was his reminder that he was anything but a big drinker.

             
He had reasons to celebrate.

             
It was Christmas time, that was reason enough, but Daniel knew that when he woke up his love would soon be here with him.  Not back home in Moscow, or in America, but here, with him, in Thailand.

             
He couldn't believe he'd over slept and suddenly a panic swept through him. Had he missed her?

             
Daniel slid out of his hammock. His hand fished for his watch.

             
9:45 am.

             
He sighed with relief.

             
It wasn't too late. She was probably still waiting in the airport in Manila to catch a connecting flight to Bangkok. 

             
Misty was coming to him, to be with him, after all this time.  It had been months since he'd seen her; physically anyway.

             
Night after night in his dreams he imagined them being together again.               Every part of him ached to be with her.

             
Misty wasn’t just the love of his life; she was so much more than that.

             
She was a part of him, in his blood, in his soul.

             
They were never supposed to meet. Fate had brought them together, an inalterable destiny that could not be avoided. 

             
Destiny has a way of showing up when you least expect it, whether you're ready for it or not. 

             
That day in the barn when they met – she was so desperate, so vulnerable and so incredibly beautiful.  He spent hours lost in her eyes, those almond shaped, bright blue eyes that spoke to his heart.  Then her father…Daniel couldn’t bear to think about it anymore.               

             
He focused on the one thing that mattered; Misty would be here soon.  She would land in Bangkok, catch the ride he had waiting for her and meet him  in Phuket.

             
He'd enjoyed Thailand. It was beautiful; a dream come true but nothing was the same without Misty. 
Russian Life
loved his work.  The pictures he had taWilson captured the magnificence of the ocean and the jungle and the people.  His editor loved what Daniel had sent him.  More assignments would surely follow.      

             
Yet something was still bothering him.  What was it? he wondered.

             
He walked on to his balcony and stared out at the ocean.  Where had all the little boats gone?  Why was the surf line so far out?  He saw sand where there should be waves.  Not a bird was singing, not a dog barking.  An eerie hush had fallen over Phuket, a town that was never quiet.  

             
His eyes squinted in the intense sunlight.  What he was seeing couldn’t be real.  He groped for his sunglasses and hurriedly put them on.

             
A massive ocean wave was headed straight for him.  It was over twenty feet high and in seconds it would smash Phuket and carry off everything and everyone in its path.

             
He was going to die today. 

             
Die without ever seeing her again.

CHAPTER ONE

             
Misty knew where her father hid the key to the gun case, under the sculpture in the hall.

             
It was a heavy thing, a gold plated pistol that had been presented to her great grandfather Robert by General Pershing in 1921. The weapon had never been fired and was stored in its own specially made cedar box, along with the three gold plated bullets.
              It wasn't the only gun in the house, but it was the only one that could properly do the job.
           She was desperate to end the pain, the disappointment.  Misty felt hopelessly trapped in a gilded cage with no way out…well, there was one way out. 

             
She was supposed to be in love, happy, celebrating.  But she believed that love was lost to her forever now, gone when she agreed to say “I do” to a man who was far more taWilson with her father than he was with her.
              Anthony Buffett's daughter Misty was nearly as valuable to him as his land in Forest Hills. She was raised just as his grapes were, with determined and purposeful care. Over the generations, everyone in the family understood that they had a role to play.  Misty was no exception.
              What's wrong with me?  Misty blamed herself for her unhappiness.
              Wilson was handsome and smart and charming. His manners were impeccable and he treated Misty with formal kindness, almost deference.
              But when they kissed she felt nothing, as if she was kissing her brother, not her lover.
              She was too young to marry. Barely eighteen, high school was still a fresh memory.  She was being forced into a life that she wasn’t ready for and certainly hadn’t pursued.  

             
She did not have a single girlfriend she could really talk to about anything other than superficial chit-chat about boys, social events and who was sleeping with whom.  Her mother was tucked safely away behind her own walls and wouldn’t let her in, no doubt to shield herself from her own nightmare.

             
She wished she could find someone with depth. Someone she could tell anything to without holding back.  A lover who stirred her passion, an intimate friend who would respond to her needs instinctively.   

             
But now it was too late.
              She would never have that.
              It wasn't like she hadn't tried, but no one would listen. Everyone was focused on what they wanted, on their agenda.  They couldn't hear her tiny scream made in the crowd.
              As time went on she felt more and more like she didn't really matter.
              That they wouldn't miss her if she was gone anyway, she thought to herself.
              That's when she decided pick up the gun and the cedar box.  It had always been a toy to her before, a prop.  Now it was her only solution, the only way to stop the pain. 

             
She walked out of the house and sat down in the barn. 

             
Her hands shook like wet leaves.
              She had to do it.
              Misty closed her eyes, crossed herself and said a brief Hail Mary.

             
She put the gun to her head and cocked the trigger.

CHAPTER TWO

             
"Don’t," she heard a voice say.

             
At first she thought it was her own voice crying for help on a subconscious level.  But as she opened her eyes, a bead of sweat trailing from her forehead to the end of her nose, her vision came into view.

             
Someone was standing in front of her.

             
A man.

             
He was almost as nervous as she was.

             
A young man at that and probably the most beautiful young man she'd ever seen.

             
She thought she might be seeing things; a vision, maybe an angel.

             
Misty conjured up the courage to say, "Go away."

             
"Please," he said. He had an accent, from where she wasn't quite sure; the Middle East, Germany, maybe Russia.  It didn’t matter; all she knew was that she had to get it over with.

             
"I'm going to do it. Go away."

             
He stared at her and slowly inched toward her as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Careful, slow, deliberate, never looking away.  As if he'd done this before.

             
"I'm serious," she warned, as he got closer.

             
"I can help," he said.

             
"You can't help me. No one can help me. Just go away."

             
"Please. I here. I here for you. I be your friend."

             
His English was poor and there was a part of her that felt softened by his attempt to stop her.

             
"I don't know you," she said.

             
"But I know you," he said with a warm smile.

             
She looked up at him, directly in his eyes.  What was he talking about?

             
"I see you before. Many times."

             
Where? she wondered. She'd never seen him before, yet there was a part of him that seemed familiar.

             
There was something very inviting about him. Something that calmed her.

             
She wouldn't allow his soothing voice or his good looks to distract her. She had to go through with it.

             
"Please, just leave." she said, feeling the urge to allow him to talk her out of it.

             
She battled inside.  Part of her wanted to just pull the trigger and get it over with.  Another part desperately wanted someone to rescue her, someone to act like they cared for a change.

             
"I know life hard. I from Russia, very very difficult.  I understand.  Much I understand.  Many days I feel without hope but I believe somehow life get better and I am here.  Here in America and I believe. Day one ... day ..." he tried to explain himself.

             
"One day," she corrected.

             
He smiled, the most radiant smile. His whole being came alive, "Yes, one day life get better and one day I have purpose, wish come true. And ... true it."

             
"
It's
true," she said correcting him again.

             
His innocent eyes and spirit contrasted with his masculine looks.  His shirt was open below his chest exposing a very contoured physique.  His blond hair was covered with dust and hay; clearly he had been working when he came across her.