Only then did someone speak. It was Panos. 'I apologize for my son. He has a bad temper. Let me show you home.'
She was shaking. She couldn't believe what just happened. None of these people who'd been so very nice to her had said a word or lifted a hand to help her. 'No, no, thank you. Very kind, I'll get home okay.' She was ready to cry.
'Please, let me take you home.' Panos called to the remaining boy behind the bar for a glass of water. 'Here, drink this.'
Her hand was trembling as she took it and brought it toward her lips.
At that moment Tom said, 'Good night, everyone,' and got up from his bar stool. He stumbled and fell onto Annika, causing her to spill the water all over her dress. 'Oh, I'm so sorry. I apologize. I had too much to drink.'
Panos said nothing. Nor did he offer her another glass of water. He just glared at Tom.
'I better go too,' she said. She quickly thanked Panos for everything and hurried out the door after Tom.
She fell into step beside him. 'What was all that about? The speech — and the spilled water?'
'Nothing, just me rambling drunk and then stumbling drunk.' He didn't seem that drunk.
'Where are you going?' She sounded anxious.
'To the taxi stand and home.' He kept walking forward without looking at her.
'Where do you stay?' She kept talking and walking wherever he was headed. She didn't want to be alone right now.
'I rent a house from a farmer out beyond Ano Mera. Have been staying there summers for thirty years.'
The taxi stand was by the harbor on the opposite end of town from the bus station.
There were a lot of people in line, and she stood with him while he waited. He talked about his art. She talked about growing up in Holland, her miserable boyfriend, and how she should let her parents know where she was. He said that was a good idea, but guessed she wasn't quite ready to give up on her 'fantasy' search. She smiled and said he was probably right.
When it was his turn for a cab, he insisted she take it instead. He opened the door and told the driver in perfect Greek that she was a friend, and not to charge her like a tourist.
Annika said good night and got into the taxi, but she knew she was too upset over tonight's bad experience with another disappointing man to face going back to her room. She knew she'd fall apart.
The driver asked her in English, 'Where to, miss?'
She looked out the window at the harbor and wanted to cry.
'Please, take me where I can watch the sunrise. I'll pay you double for your time.'
'No problem. I know just the place.' He was driving on a part of the island she'd never seen before. She'd thought he was headed east to Lia Beach, where her mother and she often swam, but he'd turned and headed north. He was on a mountain by some military installation. It was almost first light — that moment when the world seemed to come alive again with the seductive promise of a fresh start. She needed this. She needed this badly.
He turned onto a deeply rutted road and they bounced along for a few minutes until finding level ground. In a saner moment, she never would have dreamt of doing this — allowing a total stranger to take her to a deserted beach. Maybe the artist was right and she was ignoring reality in search of some fantasy. Too late now, but thankfully, the driver didn't seem interested in her. He hadn't said a word the whole time.
'Here we are, miss.' He stopped and pointed straight ahead. 'I'll wait here. If you need me, just yell.'
He didn't get out of the taxi. She didn't mind.
The hard ground where he'd parked soon changed to sand. She almost broke a heel. She took off her stilettos and walked barefoot across the dunes toward some sort of structure at the far end of the beach. Dawn was about to break and she started running. Then faster and faster and faster. No goal in mind, no place in mind, just running to wherever the light took her. It was by the structure that she stopped.
She looked at the small, isolated house, totally dark inside, with no sign of life. Then she turned toward the sea and watched light fly at the horizon as if it were alive. Annika flung her shoes in the air and started running again toward the light. She pulled her dress over her head and let it drop to the sand as she ran. When she reached the water, she stepped out of her thong and threw it back in the direction of her dress. Naked, she waded out to above her ankles. She paused, and stood very still, her eyes fixed on the light spreading across the sea.
The wind was light, the air was warm, the sea cold. She shut her eyes. She needed release. She needed to feel free, in charge of herself, in charge of her body. She needed her life back.
Feeling the sun on her body, Annika gently lowered herself onto her back. She lay still for a moment in the shallow, lapping water — her eyes still tightly closed — then slowly rolled farther out. Over and over she rolled until it was deep enough for her to swim. For fifteen minutes she swam as hard as she could remember swimming. She burst back onto the beach and thrust a fist above her head. 'Yes!' she yelled as if she'd just scored a goal. Her old self was back — enough with the fantasy and self-pity. 'Yes!' she yelled again and thrust her other fist in the air.
Perhaps it was her renewed appreciation for reality, but whatever the reason, she sensed she wasn't alone — and hadn't been for quite some time. But where were the watching eyes? She saw no one on the beach or in the house. The taxi driver? Possibly, but it could be anyone, maybe a soldier with binoculars from the base on that mountain. Whatever, she couldn't do anything about it now, and besides, 'I feel great!' she yelled to whoever was there.
She let the sea breeze dry her body, dressed, and walked back to the taxi. The driver was sitting where she'd left him. She gave him the name of her hotel, and he drove her there. She paid what she'd promised, and he said, 'Thank you.' The only words he'd uttered the entire trip back from the beach. Weird for a Greek man, she thought. But so what? She was back at her hotel, safe and sound at last.
7
Andreas had fallen into a routine. He'd wake an hour and a half before sunrise, dress in running shorts, T- shirt, and sneakers, do sit-ups and push-ups while his coffee brewed, gather what he planned to wear that day, and drive the five minutes from his rented house on the Paradise Beach road to police headquarters; where he'd park and jog the hundred yards onto the airport runway. At that hour only airport security and cleaning crews were around, and as chief of police, Andreas could go where he pleased.
He liked jogging inside the perimeter fence at sunrise. It gave him time to think, something you dared not do if you were crazy enough to attempt jogging on Mykonos roads — especially at sunrise. That was when the drunkest of the drunk returned from beach clubs and bars. The worst accidents took place during those hours, and heaven help the seriously injured awaiting an emergency helicopter flight to Athens. After his run he'd return to headquarters, shower, and ask the officer in charge to brief him on the 'fresh hells' to confront from the night before.
For the moment, his thoughts were on the wonder of the Mykonos morning light. It never ceased to amaze him how its pale, rose-blue magic somehow brought the island's rock-edged hills and bright white structures into graceful harmony. If only it could last, he thought, but hard light always came, bringing on the heat. Later, when siesta was over and dusk had arrived, the light changed again, with every color competing for your eye. Every vessel, every soaring bird, every stroller in the port, and every lamppost lining the harbor seemed to stand alone and yet — somehow — fit together against the horizon.
Sort of like a 3-D movie, thought Andreas, bringing himself back to the reality of his day.
There hadn't been a break on the Vandrew case. His men had shown her picture at all the likely places, but no one had seen her — or would admit to it if they had. She wasn't listed on any airline passenger list, and ferries kept no records of passenger names. Nor had they turned up anything so far in any of the tourist logs hotels were required to maintain and regularly turn over to the police. That was no surprise. No one enforced the requirement. The bigger hotels complied, the unlicensed rooms didn't, and everything in between was a maybe. Besides, none of the records were on computer so no one ever bothered to look at them unless there was a reason tied to a specific person at a specific hotel. Many simply were tossed to make room for other things.
