…THE WARRIOR'S WHITE cape billowed in the wind and the sword at his side bounced off his thigh as he approached at the gallop. Lechaim heralded his friend's arrival with a welcoming wave, noting that he was riding bare backed as he always did. The white steed pulled up before him snorting and resisting, the hot breath brushing Lechaim's face. He gazed up at the man he knew so well but even as he did so, a metamorphosis began to take place and that familiar face took on the features of someone else - his own. Lechaim was still trying to comprehend the meaning of this when the rider wheeled his horse around and Lechaim saw the markings on his thigh. Then Lechaim understood - he and the rider were one and the same. The horse wheeled back and the rider's face began to change its form once again. The eyes became fiery red, the eyes sunken sockets, the skin crawling with maggots, and on his head a crown of small serpents took shape like those of Medusa’s. The rider's eyes widened and his mouth stretched wide in a hideous grin, exposing black, decayed teeth. Lechaim recoiled in horror at this abomination that had only moments before been his friend…
The spots of rain that caused him to wake were cold on his face. The sea, which had been calm and placid when Lechaim had fallen asleep, had become untidy and a menacing swell was running
Panic seized him when he found her gone and he leapt from the towel spread under him and ran down the long wide sandy beach to the water's edge. Surely, he thought, she wouldn't be swimming in that sea. There were no swimmers in the water, however. He then scanned the beach on both sides with his eyes in the hope that he could see her but she was nowhere to be seen.
The beach was deserted except for a woman with a dog some way off. He ran towards her and the woman seeing the big man descending on her took fright and began to run away but he steadied her by shouting. “Don't be alarmed. I'm looking for my wife. Have you seen her?” Then he added. “A woman with red hair and a white bathing costume!”
The small Dalmatian puppy skipping around her feet yelped for attention as she answered, “I'm sorry! I've seen no one!”
If his mind had not been elsewhere, he would have admired the young woman's beauty but he could only see the face of his wife.
“Thank you!” he acknowledged and ran back down the beach. As he ran he started to call her name but only the seagulls skimming overhead answered with swoops and screeches. The land, onto which the sea now broke with ominous insistence, was wild in composition and this stretch of beach they had chosen, matched it in desolation. In fact, they had picked it for its isolation to protect their anonymity.
He reached the hire car they had been using all week and looked to see whether her clothes were still there. They lay neatly piled on the back seat untouched. Where could she be, he asked himself reproachfully. He cursed himself for falling asleep but he was also angry with her. Sinead should have known better than to wander off alone. This rugged coastline with its rips was dangerous at the best of times and she was not a strong swimmer as she would be the first to admit. Surely, she wouldn't be foolish enough to go swimming alone without waking him. Then he dismissed the idea. Apart from the discouraging sea, it had grown cold so he thought it highly unlikely that his wife would choose to be so silly.
Comforted by his conclusions, he ran along the beach again calling her name. At one end rocks interrupted the continuity of the seashore as they butted out against the foaming water. It was a forlorn hope but he clambered over this slimed, craggy, seaweed-decorated salient in the hope that he would find some trace of her.
There it was - a blue object lying in a shallow rock pool. It was one of hers, all right. Plucking the blue beach shoe from its watery grave, he considered its implication. Then he made his decision.
Although he couldn't see any sign of her in the water and the sea looked menacing, he stripped off his shirt and jeans, beneath which he was wearing his swimming trunks, and dived in, striking strongly against the rising waves. The strong sea tried to drag him down but he plunged and rose with it, the strain beginning to tire even his powerful body. Yet, the pain of his exertions was dulled by the dread that flowed through him. How long he swam calling her name, he could not recall, but even he finally succumbed to the cold water and crashing rollers. Dragging himself up onto the beach exhausted, he lay there on the wet sand feeling helpless. The faint chance that she had wandered off somewhere and got lost still provided a ray of hope. It was still possible but somehow his heart told him otherwise.
Down the beach a mile away a dappled bundle lay tossed up on the sand. Its sad doleful eyes would never again fill with joy when it heard its name being called. Those accusing orbs were closed now and forever as the sea and the sand read the last rites and gave the Dalmatian puppy a decent burial.