by Billie Dale
Seth and Miguel leave. I approach Mazric. “Tell me you’re plotting some grandiose rescue plan.” Desperation hangs on my words.
His lips fold down in a grim frown. “Three ex-Navy SEALs are headed this way but with all flights grounded, they gotta come by boat and won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon.” I’m seconds from exploding. “Look, man, it’s late. You’re no good to them with a cloudy, exhausted mind. I can’t imagine the hell party wracking your brain, but you need to rest. Everyone else will return in the morning. We’ll plot, plan, act… we will bring them home.”
He leaves and I glare at the naked space. How did I miss the house emptying? I vaguely remember random goodbyes, but until this moment nothing registered. Cash’s toys sit piled in the corner. Preslee’s cardigan, she wears while claiming I keep the temperature set a few degrees above freezing, hangs on the back of a chair. Echoes of them scream in the silence pounding in my heart and head the way the rain smacks on the tin roof.
I’m jonesing for a fix. Something to knock my ass out, take away the pain, silence the nagging voice of doom contradicting Mazric’s words in my mind. How did I miss Creeden’s obsession and how did my ex-wife get involved?
Forty-Seven
Joey
I’m a piece of shit for craving the oblivion of the high, but that’s the addiction beast for ya. You take the escape or call your sponsor. Hugh listened, somehow talked me off the ledge and gave me a bit of perspective. With hours to think, and sleep not in sight, I replayed Hugh’s suggestion to pick apart the past. Creeden Jones fed my need for years. Sometimes he was the soul financial supporter of my habit. He orchestrated my sham elopement in Vegas. Somehow, I think he even machinated Paris’s pregnancy. They were distant cousins who seemed to despise each other, but blood is blood.
He portrayed the perfect friend. Kept himself close enough to know if I’d been in contact with Preslee. Hell, he even fostered my hatred for her. All the while holding her under his thumb, biding his time. I was the clown in his master of puppets parade.
I’m already six cups of coffee deep when everyone arrives. Support is all they can offer. They mean well, but until the men with the big guns and boat show up, I’m better off alone. All the worried stares and offers of food compound my already festering anger. If I didn’t believe they were here to comfort themselves, as much as me, I’d kick them to the curb. After far too many grumbled responses to questions I can’t remember, I take stock of my family. Every one of them would risk their life if it meant saving Cash and Preslee, but they’re as clueless and helpless as me.
Mazric keeps us updated on the SEALs’ progress. Thanks to a break in storm activity they’ve upped their ETA. By noon we should be one step closer to rescue. I can’t help noticing one person missing. No way would he not be here.
“Where is Hendrix?” I ask, pausing on each set of eyes. I’m answered with shrugs and shaking heads.
His phone goes straight to voicemail but Find My Friends shows him in his hotel room. There is no way Preslee’s twin is sitting in his room. Anna Beth answers the landline when I call. She says he took off before daybreak, leaving his phone, taking hers. He said something about feeling Preslee hurting and doing something about it.
None of us have access to her with Apple’s locating service, so she says she’ll come to the house and call her mom so we can see where he is. While we wait, I check Mazzy’s live camera feeds, rewinding back a few hours before I find Hendrix on the rental dock taking off in a boat.
I rush to gather a few supplies and strap on Seth’s spare sidearm. Anna shows us on the map where her mom’s phone located Hendrix. With Seth and Miguel trailing, I tell Mazric where to send the SEALs and we leave, hoping to stop Preslee’s brother before his rashness kills them all.
∞∞∞
Preslee
I can’t stop shivering. It’s bone-rattling cold. Paris held up to her end, leaving a single bottle of water before I watched Creeden inject her arm. Bye-bye Paris. She spiraled into Blitzedville on the verge of overdosing. Cash curled up next to me. He hid a handful of fries in his shorts, passing them to me in the dark. They were the best tasting soggy mess I’ve ever eaten.
Since I’m in the back of the cave, I can’t tell how long we’ve been here. Cash says it was dark outside when he joined me. I slept on and off, forcing myself to wake up in case one of Paris’s head shots caused a concussion. The shiner around my eye prompted an inquiry from Cash. I lied to keep him from scaring him more. I’m glad he can’t see what I’m sure is a shoe-sized bruise on my thigh.
Paris staggers a weaving path to us, face ashen with dark purple circling her eyes, dressed in the same ripped skinny jeans and cropped sweatshirt. Both hang on her emaciated frame. She lures Cash away with the promise of breakfast. He pledges to bring me something when he returns. At some point he discovered my inability to move from this spot. Thank you to the goddess of small favors and dehydration I haven’t needed to pee.
Until now. Thinking about it made it so. Crap.
No don’t go there. Don’t want to have to do that too.
I’m still in my bikini bottoms, if I let it go I would dry eventually but with such short range on my chain I’d be sitting in my own urine. The hopeful nugget of rescue comforted me in the vast darkness, along with running my fingers through Cash’s hair as he slept on my lap. But as time passes it fades.
Not sure if it’s the cold or lack of water but keeping my eyes open becomes too hard. As I’m fading into the dreamworld where Joey rides in on a white steed to save me, a kick to my foot brings me back to consciousness.
Creeden stares down at me, ogling with such creepiness I drag the blanket up to my neck. Backlit by yet another lantern, I recoil when he drops to his knees next to me. Fear twists my empty stomach. When I reach the end of my linkage, he trails a finger down my cheek; cupping my crotch with his other hand he inches closer until his fiery breath hits my neck. My bladder releases along with my tears. Wetness soaks both sets of my cheeks.
Yes, I’m holding on to my sense of humor. Girls gotta stay sane somehow. Besides, I pissed on the bastard. Score for Preslee!
“Such a nasty little girl peeing on yourself. I’ll punish you for it later. You’re safe from me for now. I won’t take what’s mine until you smell better. And, Preslee. You. Are. Mine.” He smells citrusy, clean, fresh from the shower. My nose twitches from the break in the dank stink of the cave. I sneeze, hating him even more for ruining the smell of oranges for me. My shoulder protests when he yanks my hand from under the blanket. Fisted fingers don’t stop him from pressing it against his crotch. “I can’t wait to mark your creamy skin with my cum after turning it red with the palm of my hand. A lash for every day you’ve tortured me. And something special for choosing Josiah Holmes over me.”
A million derogatory snarks run through my head, but he’s unlocking the cuff so I’ll keep them to myself. For now.
Piss drips down my weak legs when he pulls me to stand. I wobble and his dumb ass catches me by grabbing the wettest part of my body. Ha! Serves you right, you groping fucker. Score two! I chant in my head when he pulls his drenched hand back. He hisses words of disgust but still drags me toward the light at the opposite end.
“Don’t even think about running. We’re surrounded by water. You will wash up, dress, eat, and when the plane arrives, you will get on it. Fight me; Cash dies while you watch. Understand?”
A knot in my throat steals my voice. Unable to answer I nod my acceptance. No matter what, I can’t let him get me on the plane. The sand in my hourglass of time for rescue is petering out.
Bright blinding, eye-frying sun lasers my retinas after too many hours in pitch-black. I squint, hissing out a curse, thankful I put my contacts in to scuba dive. They itch like a motherfucker but at least I can see. Once the dots clear, I see Cash sitting in a folding chair next to a card table littered with food bags. His face focuses on a phone and earbuds hang in his ears. Paris eyes my slicked legs, cocking a s
atisfied decayed one-tooth grin.
“Elvis,” Cash cheers, lighting up with a smile. We’re stuck in a veritable hell, yet vibrant life—untouched by evil—curls around him spreading to everyone near. Unless they’re soulless, stalking, kidnapping drug-addicted bastards. Of course. Since I’m none of those, I absorb all the goodness they don’t deserve.
“Hey, lil’ man. Whatcha watching?” A stab of pain shots through my eye when I smile but I hold it for as long as I can.
“Sponge Bob, silly.” God, I love this boy. I gotta get him out of here.
Creeden dumps a pile of clothes on the table. “Watch your show, Cash, while the grown-ups talk.”
“But I wanna…”
Creeden slams his hands on the table, knocking off most of the bags. “Watch the damn thing or I’ll throw it in the ocean,” he snaps. Cash crawls backward on his seat, staring daggers at his biohazard of a mother while making himself as small as he can. When his wide eyes switch back to me, his bottom lip trembles and large crocodile tears lump over his plump cheeks.
I move without thinking. Squatted next to him, I dry his tears, and kiss his wet cheek. “Go ahead, Johnny. You don’t want to listen to us boring adults talk anyway, plus I’ll be right here with you,” I promise, but it’s one I’m not sure I can keep. He bobbles his head, eyeing me with much more understanding than a kid his age should he slips the pods back in his ears.
“Clean her up, Paris,” Creeden demands.
“Why do I have to do it?” she whines. “Can’t the bitch wash herself? Or better yet, she’s your pet, you hose her down like the dog she is.” Her attempt to cut me with her words misses its mark.
“Spoken like a true mutt-faced skank, complete with ass-licking breath,” I retort. She lunges to grab my hair but Creeden catches her around the waist.
“You’ve done enough damage to my property. If you want your next fix, do what I say and be nice about it.”
She straightens, eyeing the small black shaving bag on an empty chair as if it’s a lover with a big dick. “Come on,” she hisses through clenched teeth, pulling me up from the chair she shoves me toward the bright sunshine.
A bucket of cold soapy water sits in the wide mouth of the cave opening. I chance a peek outside, finding nothing but a sharp drop with plenty of skin-shredding, life-taking jagged rocks and nothing but miles of deep blue.
“Jump. Please. Do us all a favor,” Paris snarks.
Cheeks burning hot, I grind my teeth so hard I hear a pop. Needing to move this along I peel off my swimsuit. I can feel her eyes glaring. “Cellulite dimpled thighs, jelly roll stomach, saggy tits, fat jiggling all over. What do either of them see in you?”
“Yes, Skeletor, let’s analyze. Do the guys who go down on you poke out an eye on those hip bones or make a game out of counting your ribs? Oooh, they play pool with the space where your teeth were, right? See if they can fit dick and balls through the rotted gap? Maybe a rousing game of connect the meth dots on your face? Grease a pan with your hair? Compare needle tracks perhaps?”
“Fuck you, cow.”
The water runs cold on my already frozen skin, but washing off the yuck fires up my ‘zero fucks to give’ attitude. Creeden is calling all the shots; she’s a pawn without power. “Jesus, Paris. What the hell did I ever do to you? That is your flesh and blood in there. Do you care at all what happens to him?”
“You’ve been in my way for far too long. Your pathetic-ness kept me from Mazric. I could’ve been the one on the NBA star’s arm, but no; you and your little friend, Spammy, claimed him for yourselves. You kept Hendrix away from me, stole Joey, then good ole Spam trapped Mazric by getting knocked up, and her mini-clone stole Asia.”
I hold the tiniest towel I’ve ever seen over my nakedness, uncaring about the nudity I round on her. “Crazy bitch, you were married to Joey. Hell, you had his son. All he expected is for you to be a decent, clean human being.”
Creeden yells for us to hurry, she throws the clothes at me. I stare at the leggings and tee wishing it were a jet pack and Glock. “If these are yours, there is no way in hell they’ll fit me.”
“They’re yours. Taken right out of your very own suitcase,” she gloats.
Realization dawns as I drag the garments on, fighting my wet skin. They trashed the cabana our first night on the island.
Anger spikes my pulse as she continues. “Joey’s heart was always with you. He went so far as to give our son a stupid name like yours. But there’s a needle in that bag with his name on it. One pump of goofball and he’ll be mine again. Amanda and Kevin can keep the brat.”
“And you wonder why you lost everyone. You go near Josiah Holmes with any kind of narcotic substance, and I will take pleasure in squeezing the life from your body.” I’ll fight for Joey and his son until I take my last breath.
She’s so waifish I could shove her off the cliff, leaving only one nutjob to deal with, but I’m afraid of what Creeden would do to Cash if I dispose of his minion. Evil masterminds hate when you take out their psycho crony.
We return, and I take my spot next to Cash, glad he’s still engrossed in his show. Creeden keeps an incessant check on his phone. He takes a break to tourniquet and shoot up Paris, sending her in off into the land of tweaked-out spaz. She sits across from me, out of her head, coloring a picture. At least Cash didn’t see the shooting up. He loves to draw and color but he understands she’s not right, so he doesn’t ask if he can do it with her, opting to keep his face buried in the phone.
Creeden steps away to answer a call. Cash removes one earbud, eyes his mother—who is still engrossed in her picture and crayons—and leans to whisper in my ear, “She’s like Plankton to Mr. Crabs. He never wins the Krabby Patty recipe. They’re not going to win, right, Elvis?”
Pops appears behind Paris’s shoulder. I sit up straighter in my chair, rapidly blinking my eyes and pinching myself to make sure I’m still awake. Tell the boy to run when the time comes.
When? I yell out in my mind because speaking is out of the question.
Girl, I’m dead not deaf. Think it. I’ll hear it. Help is coming. No matter what happens, Preslee Marie, get the boy out.
Before I answer he’s gone. My current situation sends the insanity of seeing my deceased grandfather while not dreaming to the back seat.
Creeden returns, shoves his phone in his back pocket, and takes the empty seat. Under the pressure of his leering I wiggle on my chair. He pulls a peanut butter sandwich from a bag near his feet, setting it and a bottle of water on the table in front of me. Every instinct inside says to throw it back at him because it could be drugged, but I’m so hungry and thirsty. I’ll need strength to help Cash. He has used nothing on me since he grabbed me on the beach. It should be okay.
I chug several large gulps, unable to satiate my thirst. When the bottle is empty, he replaces it. I can’t help but stare back at him, wondering if he was ever the man I knew. The kinda geeky, nothing special guy, who served me hot chocolate when I was a teenager and helped me institute a fake engagement to help our friends.
Unable to figure it out, I decide there is nothing to lose by asking. Worst he’ll do is tell me to shut up. “How did we get here, Creeden? I thought we were good friends. Isn’t Joey one of your buds?”
“You never saw me, Preslee. I was always there, on the fringe. You let the entire school believe I got to second base with you but you’d never spared me a glance, no matter how hard I tried. Free food, notes in your locker, staged trips to seven minutes in heaven at a few parties before Joey stole you. You never gave me a chance. I developed my first app to keep track of you. Had to modify it for public use, but owning your life made me my first million. The money helped me keep my worlds separate. I did everything I needed. Kept you in California. Got Joey entangled in his own drama so deep he couldn’t go after you. Had you hooked with the stupid engagement ruse. Then it went to shit because Josiah Fucking Holmes couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. No more. The plane will be here soon
and you’ll finally be mine.”
I hear the click of the hammer. See the glint of the barrel. “Not in this lifetime, fucker. Step away from my sister with your hands in the air.” Hendrix. Gun. Too many variables. Not enough members of the cavalry.
Forty-Eight
Preslee
Creeden doesn’t hesitate. No staredown, or threat he just raises his arm and fires. It happens between blinks. I shove away from the table, toppling the chair, grab Cash, and hold him behind me.
A quick flash of light and a deafening sonic boom explode in tandem from opposite sides before my brain catches up with the situation. Hendrix’s shaking hand sent his shot right, grazing Creeden’s arm before planting the bullet in the rocks. My brother hits the ground before I see where he’s shot. Louder than the discharge of the weapons, my screams echo around us. Cash’s hand in mine, I run to Hendrix, dropping to my knees at his side, sprawling my body over his. I hope Creeden cares more about keeping me than he does killing my twin.
Creeden advances. Blood from the hole in Hendrix’s shoulder soaks my clothes. The roar of a propeller outside. Cash’s sobs mixed with my own. Too much noise. Gotta save Cash and Hendrix.
I roll, maintaining my protection of my brother. Surprisingly, Paris shields Cash. “Stop!” I screech, overpowering the commotion. “Let Hendrix take Cash out of here.” Creeden shakes his head, murder written all over his smug face he aims his gun. “NO! Please. I’ll go with you. I won’t fight or run. Ever. Just let my brother and Cash go. Come on, Creeden. The plane is here and it’s only me you really want.”
“Preslee, no,” Hendrix pleads, his voice muddled and weak.
“Fine,” Creeden huffs, turning to his drugged-out counterpart, who’s coming down from her high. “Paris, stay here. Make sure they don’t leave until we’re gone. Everything you need for what you want to do is in my shaving bag. Don’t come or ever try to contact me again.”
