THE CRY OF THE GULLS

 THE CRY OF THE GULLS

Delaney leaned against the palm tree. The rough pseudo bark poked relentlessly into her skin. She didn't move. The tropical breeze caressed her cheek and gently lifted her hair so that she felt the warm wind envelop her.  Several seagulls hovered overhead,  riding the winds, their wings outstretched while dozens of their companions littered the beach, their hungry squawking, creating a din in her ears.  They searched among the small crabs, fish, and shells that lined the beach after the tide went out. The smell of the nearby ocean was strong in her nostrils, that fishy algae odor that always brings up memories of the seashore. On an ordinary day, she would have thrown back her head and drunk deeply of the smell as it played “remember when” with her senses. But this was no ordinary day.

Today she was on a mission.  Yesterday morning she had entered her daughter's bedroom, only to find the crib empty and Darla gone. It was a parent's worst nightmare. In the toddler's place was a crude note written in block letters on three-hole lined paper.  It stated that the kidnappers had taken Darla ransom and would return her alive when the exchange took place. The location was at the Wooden Cross at North Beach at 6:00 the following day. They indicated the ransom amount and instructed her that if she wanted to see her child alive she would not contact the police or anyone else.

Delaney was tempted to hire a private detective or contact her father who had powerful connections. She was surprised at the relatively low amount of the ransom fee, but it really didn’t matter how much they asked, she would have given her last cent to get Darla back, especially since she had just recently lost Darla’s father to a horrific car accident.

She had come to the tropics to spend a few weeks on the beach with Darla, who loved the water and the waves and all the treasures that she found while walking on the beach.  They both needed some time to relax and adapt to their new situation. Her father had offered one of his many tropical beach villas as a place for them to escape to and told her to stay as long as she liked.

She had arrived well ahead of the scheduled meeting with the kidnappers. She had spent most of the previous day at the bank, transferring funds and investments into cold hard cash. Today Delaney had come to the North Beach by boat, she had pulled it up the sand and hidden it in some bushes that grazed the water's edge at the far end of the cove.  She wasn’t quite sure why she had taken these measures, it hinted at subterfuge, maybe it was something she had seen from the many suspense novels and movies that she was always reading or watching. Hugging the vegetation line and thus keeping to the shadows, she walked to the appointed place. 

The meeting place was well-marked. A giant cross marked the spot. It was well beyond the high tide line. Several years ago, a group of high school kids had been celebrating their high school graduation with a bonfire on the beach.  During the party, several had entered the water. The cataclysmic event that occurred was as unexpected as it was tragic. The shark-infested waters had turned the celebration into a calamity.  Many now felt the cove was cursed.

The community had erected the cross to try to circumvent any possible curse and to honour those who had lost their lives or lost their limbs on a day that was meant to be the beginning of their lives not the end of it. Residents of the community seldom come to this beach now,  though a small laneway still serviced the area. Once a year in June, on the anniversary of the tragedy; family and friends met to commemorate the lives of their dead. Other than this, the beach was pretty much left alone, with the exception of the gulls who had claimed it as their own.

There was a small, now almost overgrown parking lot and a small entranceway that led to the beach. A few joggers did, however, use the road leading to the parking lot as a safe place to do their activities because the area was free from heavy traffic. Delaney had scoped this out upon her arrival. She then hid herself behind her palm tree to watch and wait. Even her love of suspense and action movies had not prepared her for this. Nothing could have prepared her.

At last, she heard a car drive up and park. Two hooded figures emerged from the car. Delaney could tell immediately that they were up to no good for who in their right mind wears a hooded sweatshirt in the tropics. The driver, a large burly man wearing a mask and clad in unrelieved black, opened the back door and grabbed a small bundle from the back. The passenger, a shorter slimmer man, was similarly dressed.

Delaney held her breath as the two trudged in a line along the narrow sandy path that led to the cross.  The one in the lead was the passenger and right behind him was the burly driver who still carried his burden. Delaney’s eyes focused on the purple and pink striped sleeper that lay still in his arms.  

 Delaney pushed away from the palm, not feeling the spikey fibers that dug into her hands. She paused momentarily, picked up a large duffle bag from the sand, and swung it over her shoulder.  She took a deep breath, offered up a prayer, and moved towards the hooded figures, scattering seagulls left and right.

“ You got the money,”   the lean man asked as she met them, his voice slightly muffled behind the mask that he wore. 

“In here,” she said, patting the duffle bag.

“Give it here, “ he demanded roughly.

“Let me see her,” she demanded back.

He stepped aside and revealed the husky man behind him who carried the small child in his arms. Delaney immediately recognized her daughter still dressed in the pink and purple striped sleeper that she had worn to bed the last time Delaney had put her in her crib. She gasped loudly as she saw her daughter,  lying so still in his huge arms.

“Darla,” she cried,  it was half question, half plea, half prayer. Is she… is she? She couldn't finish the sentence.

“She’s asleep.” mumbled the slim man.

“She’s so still.”

“She’s drugged, it will wear off soon.” said the burly man carrying Darla.

She stepped closer and reached out her hand and touched the skin of Darla’s cheek.  It was warm. She gave a prayer of thanks.

“Give us the money,” ordered the shorter man.

“Give me my child,”  she said, throwing the bag down on the sand.

She reached out to take Darla from the burly man. He turned away from her, denying her access to Darla.

The slim man grabbed the bag off the sand and pulled a gun from his hoodie pocket.

“What? I gave you the money,” she cried.

“Yeah, but what will your rich daddy pay to get the two of you back? Things have changed now. We just found out that your Daddy owns half the beachfront properties in the area.”

“No!” she said,  “but that’s not fair, I gave you all the money that you asked for.”

“Fair, can you believe this one,” said the slim dude turning to his burly companion.

“Please, I did exactly what you asked me to do. I went to the bank and got the money. I didn't call the police. I didn't call anyone. Just give me my daughter, I swear I won't tell anyone. I swear.”

 She reached out unexpectedly and roughly grabbed the sleeping child from Burly. 

“Hey,” said Burly.

Delanie held Darla close and felt her soggy diaper and sodden sleeper, but what was more important was the soft breath against her shoulder, and she offered up another prayer of thanks.  

“ We don’t need the two of them, just the mother,” said Burly. “We already know how the little one wails.”

“Don’t you touch us!” snarled Delaney. “You said we were doing an exchange. I lived up to my part of the bargain, so you need to keep your part.”

Delaney heard the sound of the pistol being cocked. She was unfamiliar with firearms but had watched many TV shows and movies where the sound fills the air and nothing else stands out but that ominous click. The gulls, too, disliked the metallic sound. Almost as one, they rose in the air, riding the currents and watching like interested spectators at a sports event.

 She swung around and stared down the barrel of the gun.  Delaney backed up and headed in the direction she had come. He fired a warning shot over her head and she froze. 

“Give me back the kid,” said the burly man, his arms outstretched.

“No!” Delaney wrapped her arms even tighter around Darla, cradling her body.

Burly reached out and grabbed Delaney’s arm. After a brief tussle, she tripped in the shifting sand and fell back, pivoting in the air to land on her back to avoid crushing Darla. Burly followed her down and Delaney quickly laid her daughter on the sand and went into mother tiger mode, kicking and punching. Burly tried to restrain her, but Delaney was fighting not only for her own life but for that of her daughter. She fought valiantly but Burly was stronger, he grabbed one arm and secured it over her head, and as he reached to grab her other hand, she kept kicking violently at him with her feet. She felt something hard beside her on the sand. It was a large conch shell, a queen conch, deposited there by the high tide. Her fingers slipped into its moist interior and curled around it, and she raised it and brought it down on his head with as much force as she could muster. He fell on top of her and she swiftly rolled him off and staggered to her knees.  She could see the large indentations and penetration marks that the shell had made with its spines on his temple.

Delaney heard the slim man behind her. “Get up slowly … slowly. Turn around and face me. Slowly I said.”

Delaney used her hands to push herself up from her knees. She flung the sand that she had just grabbed and threw it in his eyes, always keeping her body between the man with the gun and her daughter.

Her throw was true and he was momentarily blinded. She spun around with cat-like agility and followed through with a smash to the head with the Queen conch still as her only weapon. His screams filled the air but were mixed with the sound of the agitated seagulls who still hovered over watching the show. She swung again and felt her arm absorb the impact. He dropped like a stone. She didn't know if either man was dead or just unconscious, right now she didn't care either way. 

Delaney rushed to Darla’s side and falling to her knees, she picked up her still-sleeping child. In the background, she heard the sounds of a rapidly approaching police car. Someone, perhaps a jogger, must have heard the gunshot and alerted the police.

Delaney did not bother to raise her head and look.

 The tropical breeze caressed Darla’s soft cheeks, gently blowing her hair from her face. Delaney covered her exposed cheek with soft kisses, even as, in the background, she heard the sound of sirens competing with the cries of the seagulls.