Page 7

PARADISE KEY, SATURDAY MORNING

The first rays of the Florida sun had just begun to caress the edges of Paradise Key Private Resort when Mark's mother, Victoria, with a furrowed brow, paced along the beach.

"Mark?"

Her voice cut through the silence, each call more desperate than the last. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and sizzling bacon had been intended to rouse her son on his birthday morning, yet the untouched bed had whispered a different story.

He wasn’t there.

But where could he be?

"Mark!" she shouted again, her footprints marring the white sand, each step erasing the tranquility that the island promised. The breakfast tray, now abandoned, was meant to be a celebratory gesture from a mother to a son, but reality served a chilling alternative.

She neared the lapping waves, the salt air clinging to her lungs. A gasp escaped her as her eyes locked onto a form bobbing rhythmically in the water. She froze, hope and denial warring within her as the object drew closer.

"Please, no," she murmured, the words barely a breath. Her heart raced; it couldn't be. Not today, not her Mark. Her hand flew to her mouth, her fingers trembling as if trying to hold back the rising realization.

"Mark!" This time, a whisper, a plea to the heavens to undo what her eyes were seeing.

The waves parted, and a pale hand surfaced. Mark's mother's eyes widened, and the ghastly revelation stole her breath.

"No," she gasped, the syllable splintering into a scream that tore through the early morning hush.

"MARK!"

In the nearby bungalows, the scream knifed through dreams and slumber. Doors burst open, and guests spilled out, all clad in the hurried garb of sleepwear. They flocked toward the source, bathrobes billowing behind them, their bare feet slapping the sand, hearts racing with an unspeakable dread.

"Did you hear that?" The words ricocheted from one guest to another, their voices filled with alarm. “What happened?”

"What is it?" A woman quivered, her face ghost-pale beneath the tropical sun.

"Out there—look!"

They converged at the water's edge where Mark's mother stood, rooted in horror. Her sobs cut through the gathering murmurs as the scene's reality unfolded before their eyes.

"Call for help!"

It wasn't clear who had said it, but the command was urgent and desperate.

"Jesus, Mary… it’s his birthday," someone muttered, the words hanging heavy as they took in the sight of Mark's mother, collapsed to her knees in the shallow water, her son in front of her, hands clawing at the wet sand.

"Keep back; give her space!" Another voice tried to assert some control, but panic was a wildfire, spreading fast and uncontrollable.

"Is he?—?"

"Shh, don't," a hand clasped over a mouth, stifling the question everyone feared to ask.

"Mark!"

The mother's voice broke again, a jagged shard of glass in the murmur of silk pajamas and cotton robes.

"Get blankets, something warm!" Practicality surfaced through the chaos, but the suggestion felt hollow against the chill that had settled over Paradise Key.

"How would… what could have happened?" Words trailed off, no one daring to finish the thought.

"Quiet!"

It was the loudest command yet. Heads turned to the newcomer, a figure of authority even in her haste. She strode forward, her eyes scanning the scene with a precision that belied her calm exterior.

"Mom!" A young girl's voice, stricken, sliced through everything else as she came running up behind her.

"Olivia, stay back!" The command was sharp but protective.

"Let her come; let her—" Mark's mother reached out, her plea swallowed by a fresh wave of grief. “E-Eva… please….”

"Please, everyone, just… please, stay back," Eva Rae said. The silence that followed was thick, each person wrapped in their own shroud of shock.

"Mark," the mother whispered again, a benediction to the son who'd been the heartbeat of this island paradise, now lying silent in its shallow waters.