“Just wait,” he muttered as the trio disappeared. His greasy black hair clung to his forehead in several meager stripes. After about a minute he nodded and dodged his head to look at the people behind us, so we walked into the giant painted clown’s mouth that marked the entrance of the tunnel, Declan and Jackson close beside me.
“So realistic!” Declan muttered appreciatively.
Suddenly we were plunged into pitch darkness. I stopped in my tracks and held my breath, waiting for something to happen. One of the brothers bumped into me from behind, hard, and I started to lose my balance. My hands flew out in front of me as a strong arm slipped deftly around my waist and held me up.
“Sorry, Margot,” came Declan’s voice against my shoulder.
I laughed nervously. I was glad he didn’t let me fall, but the sudden sensation of his strong arm around me and his breath under my ear sent thrilled shivers through my body.
“Hold on,” I heard Jackson say. His cell phone flashlight popped on, illuminating the small chamber we were in.
Declan backed away from me immediately, hiding his face in the shadows. My body still tingled from the contact. Instinctively, my hands smoothed my skirt down.
Jackson swung the flashlight beam around, revealing three metal stairs on the far wall and an unlit bulb overhead.
“Just a burnt out light,” he said matter-of-factly and reached up a strong, muscular arm.
“Well don’t touch it,” Declan warned. “That’s probably part of the experience or something.”
“Er, OK,” Jackson said, dropping his arm. He held the flashlight in front of him and headed for the three metal stairs at the end of the small chamber.
Declan followed close after him and I stepped lightly behind, keeping a careful grip on the cool, damp, and probably germ-ridden railing. Up the stairs, we kept close together and peered warily into the mostly-dark.
We stood on a narrow platform overlooking a water-filled channel. A fluorescent black light bulb flickered erratically overhead, illuminating garishly spray-painted graffiti on the walls and a semicircular arch leading off into who-knows-where. Far away, some kind of cheesy recording of organ music and screams played.
“Huh,” Jackson said dubiously. Immediately I felt bad, like I had let him down. Then I tried to crush that feeling. I didn’t make the tunnel - why was I so worried about whether or not he was happy here?
“What, not scary enough for you, man?” Declan teased in the dim light, his teeth glowing bluish from the intermittent black light. “Just think of what this place looks like in daylight… that should be pretty terrifying.”
With a bang and a splash that made us all jump, the water started to move. As we peered to the left, a snub-nosed boat floated into view, stopping directly in front of a slanted handrail.
“Hm,” Jackson said, close to my ear. “A real boat huh? That’s pretty impressive. Is there going to be another one? I don’t think we will all fit.”
We stood there uncomfortably on the platform for a few seconds. Finally Declan sighed in frustration.
“We came for the Tunnel of Love, and that’s what we are doing. Dammit, Jackson, just get in!”
Jackson blew his cheeks out and stood up straight as though assembling his resolve. He shrugged and reluctantly lowered a leg into the wobbly craft. The metal rang out like a gong when his foot hit the floor.
“Huh, it’s all wet…” Jackson muttered.
“That’s probably part of the experience. A commentary on our culture’s… Oh nevermind. Margot?” Declan said to me gallantly, indicating I should go next. I squinted at the narrow bench. It certainly would be a tight fit, but in the dim light, I thought we might just make it.
Holding onto the rail, I lowered one foot, trying to feel for the bottom with my toes. Jackson kept his eyes politely averted from my knee and thigh, though I was acutely aware that if he would just glance this way, his eyes could slide right up the flimsy white dress I had worn.
Sure enough, as soon as my toes sloshed through the water in the bottom of the vessel, my shoe slipped and I tumbled forward, landing hard across Jackson’s lap. My hands flew out to break my fall, and Jackson instinctively opened his arms like he was catching a football. His breath whuffed out as our chests collided and he threw his arms around me. The boat rocked dangerously from side to side.
Instantly humiliated, I closed my eyes, hard, and tried to assess the situation. I wasn’t hurt, and there wasn’t any further to fall. But I had fallen right into his arms, and some part of my mind started cheering like the glee club.
Holding onto him until the boat settled, I tried not to feel the hard bulges of his biceps under his thin black t-shirt, or smell the musky heat of his breath on my neck. But it was inescapable. He felt just like I had imagined: firm, lean, and strong. In the dark, the whole scene seemed preposterous and implausible like a willing dream. I had a nearly overwhelming urge to lick the salt from his neck.