Black Shadows in the Water

When the day began the water was clear from the looming sunrise shining against the waves. Throughout the day Barbara watched the colors vary between blue and green depending on the angle of the water to the sun and the clouds. Now as evening approached the water was red with the setting sun and black where the shadows were already creeping.

Twelve hours ago Barbara and her husband, Tony Edquist were tourist walking hand in hand through the markets on the island of St. Croix. They had breakfast at the hotel early in an effort to be the first ones in the market when the fresh seafood was brought in. Besides they were always early risers. Tony blamed it on years of the work routine. Up at 5:30 and out the door by 6:00 to fight the rush hour traffic just to be at the office in downtown D.C. by 8:30 to start the day. It was a sacrifice. A sacrifice they gladly paid to enjoy their retirement years in Florida and vacation in the islands. They didn’t know the sacrifice would carry such a hefty price.

This morning as they walked through the market scavenging for bargains they accidentally witnessed the murder of a man. Tony tried to protect her, as he had throughout their thirty-six year marriage, but he was no match for the thugs that stood before them. They gunned him down without blinking and would have killed her as well, if not for the sounds of arriving police.

That is why Barbara sat on the back floor of the cabin cruiser, her hands tied, bouncing methodically with the waves as the boat sped further and further south. She was a hostage. She held no hope of being released. She knew from watching Miami Vice, NYPD Blue and countless other police dramas that as soon as they were out of danger of capture she would be tossed overboard.

She thought about the water watching it throughout the day as it changed colors. She thought about the moment when they would throw her overboard, her hands tied, unable to defend herself. She thought about sinking. How far would she sink? All the way to the bottom of the ocean, or would she land on a reef and lie there looking up at the bottoms of boats for an eternity? She thought about swallowing the water, her lungs filling and then bursting and she thought about death. She regretted the fact that she hadn’t died back in St. Croix with Tony instead of miles away in the middle of a cold ocean. Would his soul be able to find her? What about the children? They would never have her body to bury- just an empty grave, and a tombstone to visit. She thought about her grandchildren. Would they ever be able to go swimming again? Or would they fear that Granny would come floating in on a wave and land on the beach? Maybe she would. Stranger things have happened. If there was one thing that Barbara Ellen Meyers Edquist had learned in her fifty-seven years on this earth was that strange things happen all the time.


The water was dark now. Black shadows crossed the waves hiding the horizon. Barbara suddenly remembered a horror movie from years before. It was about the Bermuda Triangle and the black shadows on the water were the spirits of those drown at sea. She would become one of those black shadows. Barbara shivered. 

The speeding cabin cruiser slowed for the first time that day. There was no need to speed now. They were far enough into their own waters to feel safe.

Barbara strained through the gloom of darkness; focusing her eyes as best she could to watch them. She wished they hadn’t knocked her glasses off in the market. She wished there was moonlight. She wished she had learned to swim. There were three of them.

The one they called Miguel was the leader. He was mean. He was the one that shot that poor man in the market and he was the one that shot Tony. He was the one that Barbara wanted to hurt. If anyone had told her yesterday that she would want to kill another human being she would have denied it, but then this Miguel was no human being. The little man next to Miguel was afraid of him. That was obvious. Barbara watched them throughout the day. Miguel enjoyed his power over the little man, called Posheed. Barbara wasn’t sure if that was his name, or a nickname, or held some other meaning, it could be a term of endearment for all she knew. Miguel certainly used it a great deal.

The man driving the boat had never turned around from his stance in front of the wheel. He wasn’t in the market place that morning. This man was on the boat when they arrived with Barbara and pushed onboard, tying her hands and speeding away. Barbara watched him carefully. He was American. She wasn’t sure how she knew that except he stood like an American. His feet apart, his shoulders squared and his back straight. He held his head high and direct, and alert. He was probably watching the horizon for the Coast Guard.

Barbara watched for them as well. Throughout the day she hoped that the big White Boat would pull into range blaring the warning to pull along side. She longed to hear that phrase, This Is the United States Coast Guard. But it didn’t happen and blue waters turned green and then red in the setting sun until now night swallowed all hopes of her rescue.

She knew Miguel would be the one to throw her overboard. She intended on kicking him as hard as she could when he came for her. He would have to pull her to her feet before he could shove her over and that’s when she would go for the gold nuggets. She prayed she would get to use the full force of her leg thrust and not her knee. She wanted to cause him as much pain as she could to remember her by.

The cabin cruiser slowed to a complete stop and the man driving the boat turned off the engine. Miguel and Posheed stood. The man driving the boat climbed down from the top of the boat. Barbara strained in the darkness to see. The tall American went inside the cabin and returned with a lantern. He lit it and then came forward towards Barbara.

“What is your name?”


Barbara was surprised by his accent. He wasn’t American- he was British. She was also stunned by his good looks, his tanned skin and obvious grooming ability. His mustache was tidy and clean. He held out his hand to her and his nails were manicured. This man was nothing like Miguel who stunk with the smell of filth and booze. This man was startling in his appearance. He could be a dashing jewel thief, or an international spy. Barbara expected him to introduce himself as Bond, James Bond.

“I will only ask you once again, what is your name? Do you want your family to know where to look for your body, or not?”

Barbara swallowed hard. Her throat was dry. She was not given anything to drink all day and the heat and the sun bouncing off the water left her parched. She wanted to tell him her name. She wanted her family to know where to find her body and she wanted to put an identity to her person. She was not just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time- she was Barbara, mother of four, grandmother of six, and the wife of a wonderful man who was willing to die for her.

“Barbra,” was all she could say. Her voice failed her.

“Give her a drink,” the dashing spy ordered.

Miguel grumbled as he fetched her ice-cold beer, opened it and held it to her lips. Barbara swallowed as fast as she could, but Miguel was enjoying pouring the liquid faster and faster as he tilted the bottle higher. The alcohol burned her throat. She coughed and then gagged.

“That’s enough, you idiot.”

The dashing spy pushed Miguel out of the way. Barbara realized that she was wrong about Miguel being the leader- this man was.

“Now, tell me your name.”

“Barbara Edquist.”

“All right Barbara, I want you to tell me what happened this morning in the market.”

She was still sitting on the deck of the boat, her hands tied, and the dashing spy was leaning over her with the lantern shining in her face. She frowned at him. He wanted to know what had happened. He had stayed on the boat. He was asking her to verify what Miguel told him about the morning occurrences.

“Than man there, Miguel, shot and killed a man working in the market at the fish booth, and then shot my husband and then he brought me here to the boat.”


The dashing spy was not pleased. He straightened and turned the lantern towards Miguel. Miguel was backing up slightly and denying that Barbara had told the truth. The dashing spy didn’t buy it. With one quick motion he pulled his gun and shot Miguel. A bullet between the eyes and the mean man who shot her husband fell overboard into the dark waters. One shot between the eyes and Miguel was gone.

Posheed clung to the railing crying out for Miguel.

“Poor Posheed,” the dashing spy told Barbara. He was so chummy, as though Barbara and he were old friends and he was merely relating a story over dinner. She could easily imagine him as a dinner companion for a starlet. White tails, flower on the lapel, kissing the back of women’s hands in that European greeting that dashing young men do. He was mocking the boy’s grief.

“Miguel adopted Posheed, poor lad, he would have been better off where we found him, on the streets of India begging for food.”

Posheed turned suddenly, he held a knife in his hand and he lunged forward at the dashing spy striking him in the back. He dropped the lantern next to Barbara, struggling to pull the knife from his shoulder blade. Posheed lurched forward to wedge the knife further into the mark. The dashing spy fired his gun and Posheed fell before he could take another step.

Barbara’s screams pierced through the dark night, but there was no one to hear them save the whales and the sharks gathering to feast on Miguel’s remains.

“Barbara,” the dashing spy pleaded with her. “Pull this out of my back.”

“My hands are tied,” Barbara answered.

The dashing spy fell beside her. He pulled on the knot until the rope was loosened enough for her to release the remaining constraints. Her hands were free. She jumped to her feet and moved quickly away from him nearly tripping over Posheed’s dead body.

“Barbara, please,” the man begged. He motioned again for her to pull the knife from his back.

“What is your name?” Barbara asked him. “Do you want your family to know where to look for the body, or not?”

There was no answer to her question.


Barbara spent the night sending SOS calls on the shipboard radio. By morning the sun shone clear against the water melting away the shadows. On the ride back home, Barbara watched from the Coast Guard cruiser as the waters turned blue and green according to the angle of the water to the sun and the clouds. She hoped they would be home long before sunset, and before the waters turned dark with shadows.