But Richard Mann, her partner of eight years, was a geologist. He didn’t believe in folklore; he believed in sonar readings and sediment cores. When a sinkhole opened up on the Bare family property, exposing a limestone cavern flooded by the creek, Richard saw only a research opportunity.
Bella didn’t remember deciding to go in. She only remembered the shock of the cold water, the frantic kick of her fins, and the rope leading her toward a widening passage. The dive light cut through the murk, illuminating walls covered in claw marks as wide as her torso. Bella Bare -- Richard Mann Split Open by Monster C...
“Get out. Richard, get out now.”
The official report called it a “drowning accident.” The sinkhole was filled with concrete. Richard Mann’s body was never recovered—only his dive light, found two miles downstream, still flashing a desperate SOS. But Richard Mann, her partner of eight years,
She swam. She swam until her lungs burned, until the rope tangled around her leg, until she clawed herself out of the sinkhole and collapsed onto the leaf litter, coughing up creek water and bits of Richard’s wetsuit that had floated to the surface. Bella didn’t remember deciding to go in
The next morning, they stood at the edge of the sinkhole. The water was the color of strong tea, and it smelled of rotten leaves and ancient minerals. Richard donned his dry suit, clipped on his dive light, and secured a GoPro to his helmet.
Bella felt the cold knot in her stomach that she’d learned to call intuition. “Richard, let the university send a drone.”