True by Michael Cordy Page A

breathe, but Max had trained himself to ignore this impulse. Where his body had once betrayed him, he now had control over it. He cleared his mind and focused on an image that always calmed him: his mother's hand stroking his forehead as he fell asleep. After almost three minutes in the deep blue, where die sun's rays barely reached, she appeared before him, dressed in her glowing white nightdress, beckoning him deeper. He reached out with his right hand, as if to touch her, and smiled as the euphoria of oxygen starvation came to him like an old friend. In the blue silence, aware only of his slow heartbeat, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over him.
    He knew of experienced scuba divers who used compressed air to dive to great depths in order to experience the early euphoric effects of nitrogen narcosis, ensuring that they headed for the surface before the 'rapture of the deep' made them remove their mouthpieces and drown. Max distrusted narcotics and preferred the purity of free diving. Ever since his mother died, however, he had been addicted to the light-headed hypoxia and emotional release he experienced when diving at depth. Free diving to the euphoric brink of death had become his drug of choice.
    On land he felt*no emotion for his father, or from him. He had no need of it. It was irrelevant. But this was his mother's realm and he could vent the feelings he supressed on land. It was better than any trip to a psychiatrist: it was as though, for a few fleeting moments, he had returned to the womb. This was where he could connect with his mother, admit his love for her and acknowledge her love for him.
    He noticed the time on his wrist. He would have to kick for the surface now or risk drowning. The upward ascent against gravity and under pressure required eighty per cent of a diver's effort and was therefore most dangerous. He checked the illuminated pressure gauge beside his watch. He had descended almost two hundred feet. It seemed that he was increasingly forced to go deeper to achieve his secret pleasure. For a moment he thought he saw his mother again and felt such joy that he was tempted to continue his descent.
    Then an image of his father's face cut in, reminding him of his duty and his place in the world. Suddenly he felt cold and weary. Holding on to the buoy's anchor rope, he kicked his fins and headed for the surface.
    THE DIVER HAD BEEN SUBMERGED FOR SEVEN MINUTES BEFORE Isabella saw him surface and gasp for air. When he headed for the shore, with long, powerful strokes, she walked down the jetty after him, but he swam so fast she had to run to keep up.
    When he reached the shallows and stood to his full height his size made her stop and stare. His broad back was turned to her as he pulled off his mask, then removed the neoprene balaclava that covered his head to reveal a mop of white-blond hair. When he faced her, her heart began to pound and her palms felt damp. He was too far away for her to see his features clearly but she knew he was her saviour from last night.
    She found herself walking towards him, pace quickening with each step. He had seen her now and was slowly approaching. She had never felt like this before: mouth dry, chest so tight she could barely breathe, heart thudding so hard that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Even before his face came into focus she could see him perfecdy, every feature etched into her consciousness, as familiar as her own.
    Her entire body tingled, on full alert, as though electricity ran through her veins. Isabella exerted all her self-control to stop herself running to him.
    THE MORNING SUN WAS BEHIND HER, OBSCURING HIS VISION AS SHE walked towards him, but Max recognized her immediately. His chest felt tight as his pulse accelerated to sixty beats per minute, almost the average resting rate for a normal human heart, but the novel sensation was both disorienting and exhilarating. Then she was closer, and in the sunlight he saw every detail of her