There was something soothing about the view of the sea; maybe the way the tides come and go, or the way the waves laxly erodes the sands as it wriggles its way gently towards the shore, or perhaps the rhythmic pulse it exudes which is unmatched by any other part of nature.

Whatever characteristic of the sea it was, Pamela King felt soothed.

She was sitting still, her hands on her laps, looking through the window, lost in thought. She shut her eyes against the glaring hurt that welled up in her heart as if darkness would abate it. A tight and painful lump surged in her throat and she swallowed, trying to efface it. Without wanting to, tears started to seep down her face but she didn't sob. She reached for a box of tissues on a little table beside her and wiped her eyes. Her heart was heavy and sadness weighed her down.

She could hear approaching footsteps that were solid against the wooden stairwell just outside the door. She knew who it was so she didn't bother to turn around. All that filled her was prayers that the person coming would come bearing good news.

She returned her eyes to the sea that was buzzing with its dormant strength just as the hard mahogany door of her father's study creaked open and a blonde petite woman in her early fifties walked in. She was in her early fifties, but she looked ten years her age.

Pamela looked up reluctantly from the view of the sea at the woman that entered. It was her mother, Dorothea.

"Mother." Pamela said, almost a whisper. That word conveyed a lot of things which Dorothea understood.

She walked slowly towards Pamela. Her face was white, her skin very pale and bags were under her eyes for lack of sleep, all telltale signs that she was suffering just as much as Pamela was. Dorothea took her daughter's hands in hers and squeezed it affectionately.

"He's gone."

Those two words softly spoken had a bomb blast impact on her. Gone. Her love, her best friend, her supporter, her happiness, her gossip-buddy, her father, gone.

The tears couldn't come. It just couldn't. The news was not shocking, for he had been battling his life for a week since he was hit by a stray bullet. He was unfortunate to have been at the bank when trigger-happy masked men robbed - or so she was told.

She felt pain though. That kind of pain that renders one weak and speechless. The realization that she would never be able to see her dad smile or talk to her washed over her in alternating waves of more pain. The pain threatened to cripple her. She turned her face to the sea again, begging to be soothed.

"How did he die?" She asked quietly, her eyes still looking straight ahead. "Was it peaceful? Did he suffer a lot?" She turned her head to regard her mom. "Did he call for me?"

Her mom sniffled and wiped at her nose. "It was peaceful honey. He died a very peaceful death." Her face crumpled once more and tears started to seep down her face. "Oh, I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss the love of my life."

"The love your life Dorothea? Why then did you divorce him?" Pamela said, indignation rising sky high in her chest.

"Don't start, Pamela."

"Don't start what?"

Pamela's mother stood and walked towards the sets of paintings hung on the wall ranging from The Starry Night painting, Las Meninas painting, the portrait of Innocent X and others. Her dad had been an art lover, and mostly had Diego Velázquez's paintings.

Her mother stood there and pretended to be studying them. "We've discussed that already."

"I just don't understand why you woke up one morning and demanded a divorce. I want to know why."

"I fell out of love."

"Oh, did you Dorothea?"

"Mother, Pamela." She tore her eyes from the paintings and turned to regard her daughter. "I'm your mother and you will call me that." Her voice was soft but firm.

Pamela sighed. She turned again to the window. "You'll always be Dorothea to me." She muttered bitterly. "You lost the privilege when you destroyed my father. Now he's gone."

Dorothea's voice broke. "I loved him Pamela, I still do." She sighed and massaged her temple. "But our divorce is another thing entirely, please try to understand."

Pamela opened her mouth to reply but a rasp knock on the door cut it off. Her bodyguard, Philip entered, looking so mellow, as if feeling sorry for ruining an intimate moment. Pamela almost snorted at that. She would prefer whatever it was that Philip had come to say to having another argument with her mother with such a sensitive topic.

"His body is about to be transported to the morgue, ma'am."

Her mother let out a heavy, forlorn sigh and buried her face in her handkerchief and that made Pamela want to burst into tears. But she stood, head raised, chin jutted and all, letting off a radiation that screamed composure. She walked to the mahogany desk of the study and grabbed her purse. There was no time to waste. Today, she would fill out the necessary forms for the internment and by tomorrow, her father would be buried.

"Lead me there." She said to her bodyguard and gave her mother a quick look. "You coming?"

She shook her head from side to side in negation. "You go ahead."

"This way, ma'am." Philip said and opened the door for Pamela and walked closely behind her. She had had a bodyguard since she was a kid. She remembered asking her father when she was six why she needed a guard. He had said simply,

"There are lots of people who are jealous of our happiness, and would do anything to take it away." He had ruffled her hair fondly. "And you, my dear Pam Pam, is all the happiness I've got in the world."

Well, that was twenty years ago. So far yet so near. She sighed. Time flew by when no one was looking. Her bodyguards were replaced every four years - her father's rules, but Philip was the longest she'd had, and that was six years.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs and saw the medical examiners preparing to place the corpse into the ambulance, her walking faltered. Seeing her father so lifeless and unaware of her presence made her pain skyrocket. The pain became so intense that she could feel her heart ripping into shreds. It dawned on her that he was really dead. Dead.

"Miss King?"

She was brought back to the present from her pain-clad reverie. She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked tears from her eyes. "Yes. Let's go."

She raised her head courageously and walked towards the ambulance which was parked outside the King's Manor. Her father's body was in a cadaver pouch and the medical examiner unzipped it for her to take a look. She walked slowly towards the body, dreading the pain that would spill from her heart and misery that awaited her by seeing his body. As her father's face came into view, her breath hitched and her heart became very heavy, as though lead blocks had been forced down her throat.

She mentally braced herself and went closer.

"Can I touch him?"

The Emergency Medical Technician who stood beside her nodded and handed her rubber gloves. She thanked him and put it on. When she touched his face, it was so cold and so lifeless. His facial expression was calm, as if he'd been smiling when he breathed his last and that expression was frozen on his face for all of eternity. She couldn't have stayed with him as he passed even if she had wanted to; it would have been too painful to bear. She cradled his face between her palms and her eyes filled with tears.

But the tears hadn't rolled down her face when it happened, the first sound of a gunshot.

The whole medical team dropped to the floor for cover. Pamela, confused about what was happening looked around in disarray. More gunshots were fired and bullets started flying in every direction, and that was when she realized that she was being attacked, and the bullets were being fired at her house!

With a rush of panic, Pamela screamed and fell to the floor as a fusillade of bullets flew over their heads, breaking windows, smashing headlights, causing an overwhelming feeling of fear and anxiety for her and the people inside.

"Stay down, Miss!" Philip yelled, corking his gun and shooting back at the black van that was attacking them. Crouching low, he ran over to where she was and returned a few shots then said, "I want you to run as fast as you can into the house - "

"No, I can't!"

"Yes, you can! Miss, listen to me, I'll cover you, just run!"

Pamela nodded frantically and swallowed nervously. Her adrenaline was so pumped that she would do anything to save herself at the moment.

"On my count, go." He stood and fired two more shots then crouched to the position where they were. He discarded the gun he was holding when he opened the shell and saw that the bullets had finished then reached for his pocket for another. He quickly checked if the gun was filled and satisfied that it was, said, "One, two, go!"

Pamela sprinted into a run as fast as her legs could carry her while Philip fired at them. She turned around to see if Philip was safe and instantly regretted it. Three masked men scrambled down from the van and started moving towards her with purposeful strides. No, they weren't moving towards her anymore, they were moving towards the ambulance van, at her father's corpse!

"Go, Miss!" Philip hollered bringing her back to the present. She heard Dorothea scream from inside as a window shattered due to the shots.

She crouched low in fear, torn on what to do. Her father's corpse was still there and she couldn't leave him. The least she owed her father was a proper burial. No one knew why those men were heading for her dad's corpse and as hard as Pamela searched for a sensible reason the three huge men would want a corpse, it triggered only one response - they could be insensitive people who wanted to kidnap the corpse and demand ransom. It riled her. Her dad's corpse will not be disrespected!

Her heart beating wildly, she scrambled back to the ambulance van. Suddenly, a hand held her back. Philip.

"Go back, Miss!" He fired two shot and ducked.

"No! My dad!"

"Ma'am it's just a corpse. Nothing will happen to it! You need to save yourself!"

She yanked her hands from his grasp. "Don't you ever call my father just. He's important!"

Philip looked behind her and his eyes widened in shock. "Miss, duck!"

Before she knew what was happening, she was yanked beneath her feet and was thrown to the floor while Philip covered her. He suddenly yelled. He had been shot.

"Philip?! Nooo!!" She cried.

She drew unsteady, ragged breaths as she watched him slump. She started to sob, her whole body shaking.

"Save yourself!" He struggled to a sitting position and aimed his gun. Blood had started to seep from his back and unto the floor where he sat. "I'll cover you, Go!"

Pamela screamed on the top of her voice as more gun fire exchange ensued between Philip and the men and ran frantically into the house. She went to a window and watched helplessly as more bullets were fired into Philip's body and he slumped lifelessly to the ground.

"Pamela!" Dorothea called, tears in her eyes. Pamela flung herself towards her mother.

"Philip has been hit. He's dead." She said panting heavily, her lips wobbling and her eyes filling with tears.

Her mother gasped. "Oh, no." She took Pamela into her arms and rubbed her back. "I warned him," Dorothea muttered sobbing sorrowfully. "I warned him." She repeated. Pamela's brain was literally dead due to shock and panic so she did not think to ask her mother what she meant by that.

After what seemed to be a long time, the ruckus settled and everywhere became quiet. Her driver, her housekeeper, Florence and the EMTs started emerging from their hiding places, even though they were still shook. No one could muster the courage to go outside the door. The EMTs who had been outside when the shootout had occurred were in sorry states.

"Call the cops." Dorothea said to no one in particular.

"You mean no one had done that?" Pamela asked incredulously.

Her mother shook her head no, and repeated her plea for the cops. Their driver, Hanky nodded and took out his phone to call the cops. He was still unlocking it when Pamela's phone suddenly rang. The shrill ring startled everyone in the room.

Pamela stared at the hidden number that was calling her, at loss on what to do. She had no friends, well, not exactly. She had been home schooled right from elementary school till she graduated high school. For College, she had studied at Harvard so all her mates were in Massachusetts, some in Boston. She was the only one that moved down to Alaska because of her family business.

It could be her school mates that were calling, who knows?

She took in a deep breath to garner some semblance of composure and clicked the green icon.

"Hello?"

"Pamela King?" The voice was deep and snide. It made her shiver instantly. The images that came up in her head were the scary ones she'd seen on TV last Halloween.

Her mother looked at her with concern and worry.

"Yes, this is she."

"Sorry for that little disturbance. I hope you're okay?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"What?" Pamela tried to register the meaning behind his words but couldn't. "What do you want? Maybe you got the wrong number."

He laughed. Pamela frowned and gave her mother a look. She put the phone on loud speaker. "I've gotten what will give me what I want - your father."

Dorothea and Pamela gasped. Pamela looked at one of the EMTs and signaled for him to go out and check for the corpse.

"What do you want a dead man for?"

"Uhh lemme think... you!" He laughed. The ME came back in then, looking miserable. His eyes were filled with tears and Pamela knew it had nothing to do with her present predicament. She didn't want to imagine the gruesome sight the poor man had seen of his coworkers. He shook his head in negation at her.

"You stole my father?"

His laughed again. Hard and loud. Dorothea had to squeeze Pamela's hand to keep her calm. She so wanted to smash the phone. She just didn't understand how someone could be humored in such a situation. Was she dealing with an insane person? A psychopath?

"If you want your father's body laid to rest, if you want him to find peace, you have to give yourself in his stead."

"What do you want me for?"

"That's my business, sweet peas. I'll give you till tomorrow to think about it. And, dear, if you call the cops, I'll release hawks to dine on this corpse, and I'll make your life miserable for as long as I can. Understood?"

Pamela could imagine him popping gum into his mouth or stirring coffee as he threatened her. It made her shiver. "Yes."

"Good girl." The connection died.

Pamela looked at her mother, panic in her eyes. She dropped the phone and sat slowly.

Dorothea turned to face the house keeper and the driver. "I thought someone was calling the cops?" She took Pamela's hands and led her upstairs and into the room she just exited.

"I'll do it." Pamela said as soon as the door shut behind them.

"No, Pamela. You can't. It's just a corpse."

"How dare you!" Pamela yelled. She shut her eyes tight and opened it, drawing a slow breath. "Never call my father just." She said through gritted teeth. "You never loved him so I doubt you could even remotely understand how this feels."

"How could you say that? I loved your father. I still do. Even in death."

"All the more reason I need to do this."

"Pamela please. Rethink this, I beg of you." Dorothea said as tears coursed down her cheeks. "It is too dangerous and you know it. A lot of things could happen, a lot of things could go wrong. What if..." She hiccupped and shut her eyes briefly. "What if you do not come back alive? What if he's some kind of human trafficker? What if -"

"I'm tired of the 'what ifs'. We can't sit on our asses and do nothing."

Her mother nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, I understand that. But that is not your job. I can't loose you too." Her eyes held so much pain. She touched Pamela's face. "Please, don't do this."

Pamela looked away, letting her mother's hand drop. "I can't. I have to go. He'll call back soon so I have to be ready." She stood and walked to the widow, back to the view of the clear sea. This time it wasn't offering the comfort she needed, probably because she didn't need it anymore.

"My decision is final. If I'll be the ransom for my father peace, then so be it."

~

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