Fractions for fun - 6. All at sea

Harsh sun beating down on him. What was he lying on? Sand? Was that sand?

Sound of moving water. Something was touching his legs. Waves? Why were there waves?

His eyes refused to open, but luckily his mouth had no objections. Gasping for air. Only he got a mouthful of sand when he did. His head was throbbing and his back itching, rough from salt and sand stuck to his clothes. Why couldn’t he get up? As he tried, the throbbing inside his skull intensified and he collapsed, falling back into the darkness.

Bright light. Like a thunderbolt through his brain. It hurt and he squeezed his eyes shut. Wait, that must mean he could open his eyes! Hesitantly, he cracked one eye open only to close it when the glaring sun singed his retina. Shifting focus to the rest of his body, he did a sort of run through. Everything seemed to be in working order. Arm, legs, hands, feet. All appeared to move at his command without much pain. He even managed to get some of the sand out of his mouth. In its parched state, that was no easy feat.

His brain however refused to cooperate with any more coherent thoughts beyond the bodily rollcall. It was all a mess with some jumbled bits and pieces of information floating by. Floating as a boat? Yes, a boat! The sea! Surf and sun! This was important, he was sure. Why couldn’t he remember where he was? Something bad had happened to him, but he had no idea what. Shaking his head to clear the fog only upset his brain further and sent him back into oblivion, even though he fought with all his might to stay conscious.

Unknown voices drew him out of the dark and back into the fog. Mumbling words he couldn’t understand. He tried to speak, but no words came out, only a hoarse squeak. Strong hands grabbed him, hoisting him into the air. What were they doing? He wanted to protest but couldn’t. So tired. He was laid on a softer surface. Blankets perhaps? Still his brain didn’t function, and his eyes didn’t care for the sun. Movement below him. The sound of hooves and wheels on gravel. A cart? The motion lulled him, though this time it felt more like going to sleep than passing out.

Sweet shade. Cool water on his skin. He could open his eyes and not suffer searing pain. What he saw made no sense. An old woman was wiping his chest with a damp cloth. He appeared to have no clothes on. She hadn’t noticed he was awake and continued her work down his legs, leaving a fold of the sheet to cover his privates. Glancing around, he saw he was in a simple house. A few chairs, a table and a stove. Some cabinets lined the white walls. A blue and white striped rug lay on the floor.

The woman’s face was deeply wrinkled, her scrawny body hunched over. The way she handled his leg showed her strength. The old woman was not frail. Far from it. But who was she? Where was he? And how had he ended up wherever this was?

“Hello.” The roughness of his voice surprised him. It sounded as if he hadn’t talked for days. Maybe he hadn’t.

His greeting startled the woman and she dropped her cloth. Clearly chastising him in a language he didn’t understand, she picked it up and resumed cleaning him.

“Excuse me, could you stop that?” He tried to retract his legs and sit up, but his head immediately started spinning, forcing him back down against the pillow. “Fuck…”

More foreign words flowed over him. He saw a cup and a jug filled with water on a table beside the bed.

“Water, please?” He pointed to make himself understood. The old woman poured him a cup and handed it to him, moving her other hand in a slow, downward motion. Drink slowly. Yes, that would be a good idea. He was thirsty as hell, but he remembered something he’d seen on Discovery Channel about not shocking your body after a long period without drinking.

Raising up on his elbow, he grasped the cup and took a few small sips of cool water. It tasted like heaven, but soon he began to cough. Evidently, he had to go even slower. The woman grabbed the cup and he lay back down. The water and rest had cleared his brain and suddenly it all came back to him. Greece. He was in Greece.

Painful memories flooded him. Spending long lazy days at sea in the Greek archipelago, alone on the sailboat with his husband Eric. Then an unsettling phone call from his bank, wanting to check if he had intended to transfer large amounts of money from their joint account to a new account not in his name. The intense feeling of betrayal. The ensuing argument, where he shouted he would file for divorce. The hateful and deranged look in Eric’s eyes as his husband pushed him overboard. Fighting against the waves and finding a crate to use as a floatation device. The relentless sun burning any exposed skin, the chafing of clothes, the fear of being in the water when not seeing what swam below him.

Then darkness, blessed darkness, which took away his pain. Until he surfaced again. Apparently alive against all odds.

“I need to make a phone call.”

The woman stared at him. Shaking her heads, she responded in Greek. Not sure if she had understood him or not, he tried with the international hand sign for a phone call. This only sparked more Greek and head shaking.

“Phone call!” The moment the words left his mouth, he felt like an idiot. As if speaking louder and slower would aid their communication.

As predicted, the woman pursed her lips. With a sweeping gesture, she invited him to look around the room. When his eyes had taken in his surroundings, he realized what she was trying to say.

“You have no phone…” Deflated, he sank back against the pillow. Fatigue enveloped him again. He was so tired. Even though he tried to fight it, sleep claimed him.

When he came to again, the woman was still there. A few other people were there with her, all of similar age or even older by the looks of them. The group of octogenarians all dressed in black were all talking excitedly, an incomprehensible chatter. Intermittently, they snuck glances of him, obviously curious but wary.

“Phone call?” He repeated his question, complete with improvised sign language.

Heads shook in reply. How was that possible? Such a large group of people and no phones? At all?

“Police? Can you contact the police?”

This got their attention. After a brief discussion, the woman wagged her finger at him.

“Ochi polis.”

“What? I don’t understand. Can you contact the police? Police?”

“Ochi polis.”

Growling in frustration, he tried to sit up in bed but almost fainted. The old woman rushed forward and pushed him back down. Her dark-brown eyes seemed filled with compassion but also sternness. If he could only understand her! But who didn’t understand the word police? Wasn’t that universal?

“I need to get back home. I need to stop Eric.”

She patted his shoulder while speaking soothingly in Greek. Turning around, she had a brief exchange of words with the rest of the visitors. They left them alone and the old woman busied herself at the kitchen counter. It was beginning to feel like a surreal movie. Was he going to be stuck here, in this little cottage somewhere in Greece? No means of communicating with the outside world? How long would it take to learn Greek? The absurdity of the thought made him laugh. The woman turned around and gave him a concerned look. She probably thought he was insane. Maybe he was. All the saltwater he’d swallowed had perhaps dissolved his brain.

After a basic but very satisfying meal of bread, feta cheese, olives, vegetables and a dip he couldn’t quite place, he felt slightly better about his situation. He wasn’t going to starve. The food cleared the last of his brain fog and he made a plan to rest for a while longer and then venture out to see if he couldn’t find some way to get in touch with the police. Even on the smallest of islands, there had to be someone with a phone. A harbour master, perhaps? There had to be a ferry. Greece was known for their many ferries. Finally having a plan helped him relax and he settled in to get some more rest.

A gentle shake to his shoulder woke him.

“Excuse me? Sir?”

Surprised and elated at hearing someone speak English, he turned a little too quickly in bed and almost blacked out again. As the black spots cleared his field of vision, he found himself staring into the softest brown eyes he’d ever seen. He blinked and the rest of the man came into sight. A uniform.

“You’re a policeman!”

His naïve happiness had the man smiling, showing a hint of beautiful, white teeth between soft lips.

“Yes. I’m Andreas.” The uniformed man held out his hand. “Andreas Christou.”

“Simon Flynn.”

As their hands touched, Simon couldn’t stop a stray thought from passing through his head. What a gorgeous guy. He was suddenly very aware of his naked state with only a thin sheet covering his body. Surprised and annoyed with his own reaction, he reined himself in. He wasn’t an adolescent anymore. A couple of sultry dark eyes and a pleasant smile shouldn’t set him off anymore. Especially when he had been so close to death, in fact murdered by his own husband. It was obvious he was still off-kilter.

“I’m the officer in charge of Sikinos as part of the Cycladic police department. I’m based on Naxos, so it has unfortunately taken me a few days to get here.” Andreas fell silent and regarded Simon. “You don’t speak any Greek, I presume?”

Simon shook his head. A few days? He’d been on the island a few days? It seemed like only moments.

“I tried to ask them to contact the police, but they said there was no police.”

Andreas chuckled.

“Well, polis means town and there is no town here on this tiny island. Only about 270 people live here, mostly old folks who don’t speak any English. They did contact me, though.” He smiled. “Police in Greek is astynomía. We had to make it a bit difficult…”

Turning serious, Andreas pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down.

“Can you tell me what happened? I heard from Efrosyni how you were found on the beach.”

After a few moments of organizing his thoughts, Simon told Andreas the whole story. The man took notes furiously and asked questions about the boat they had hired, their planned route and details on Eric. When he mentioned Eric was his husband, Andreas looked up quickly. He seemed surprised but not at all put off. On the contrary, his body language changed in a way that Simon interpreted as trying to get closer, angling his body towards him.

When Andreas had satisfied his need for information, he stepped away from the bed and spoke in rapid sentences with someone on the other end of his com radio.

“I’ve put out a general notice that your husband is to be apprehended when he is located. Europol and Interpol will be notified as well. Your husband will be arrested as soon as he shows his passport. Since he can be cruising anywhere in the Greek islands, I’m not sure when that could be. We’ll have to wait and see.” He gave Simon a once over. “I think we should have a doctor look you over. You look very fine, but just to be sure.”

“You think I look very fine?” Simon couldn’t stop the lousy and embarrassingly flirty joke. Was it incredibly tasteless to flirt with a cop who had taken his statement about an attempted murder? It was just so nice to talk to somebody who understood him. He was about to apologize, when he noticed a distinct blush creep up the officer’s cheeks. Intrigued, he remained silent to see what the further reaction would be.

“I do. I mean you do. I mean…” Andreas took a breath and started over. “You look healthy, apart from some sunburn and bruising on your upper arm. It’s probably nothing, but we should make sure. I don’t think the ambulance helicopter is necessary, even if it could take a day or two for the doctor to make the trip here. I hope you don’t mind staying here on Sikinos for a while? Efrosyni asked me to bring some clothes for you, so you won’t have to walk around like Socrates in a sheet.” They both giggled. “I’ll stay here to translate.” Shyly, Andreas lowered his eyes. “And perhaps keep you company. If you want me to.”

Andreas looked up, biting his lip and waiting for a response. Simon wondered if he was indeed suffering from some brain injury. Wasn’t he supposed to be all torn up and inconsolable about his husband’s enormous betrayal? Instead, he was casually flirting with a gorgeous Greek cop and, if his gaydar wasn’t totally off, getting definite vibes in return. He simply felt so relaxed and completely safe. As if he knew for certain everything would be all right. Andreas would see to that. Justice would be served. The prospect of spending a couple of days on a tiny Greek island was something he could definitely live with. Even if most socializing would be all Greek to him, it didn’t matter with Andreas at his side. The cute cop would definitely be the cherry on top. Or perhaps the olive?