Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  “Shut the fuck up, Beth. Or I’ll kill you the hard way - with a lot of pain.”

  Suddenly the boat stops moving and the engine throttles down. Beth is yanked to her feet and she faces Samuel. His eyes are flat and cold. His hands move up around her throat. She kicks and hits him but to no avail.

  His hands tighten.

  Beth holds her breath, but the kicking and hitting takes her oxygen and soon she has to gasp.

  But no air will come.

  She spits into Samuel’s face but he remains impassive, looking at her with cool disinterest.

  Beth feels her eyes cloud over. She feels unnaturally light, like her feet are off the ground and she’s floating.

  This is what it’s like to die, she thinks.

  And then Beth hears a roaring in her ears.

  Not what she expected at death’s door, a roaring, but there it is.

  And it’s getting louder.

  Suddenly, Beth sees Samuel look away from her. His hands relax for a moment, enough for her to turn her head.

  And she sees out of the corner of her eye a police car with its lights and siren going.

  Samuel’s hands relax even more around Beth’s throat.

  Ninety-Five

  The blow to his testicles is brutal, and the pain blossoms throughout his body. He sinks to his knees. He rolls over and looks up into Beth’s eyes.

  “Beth,” he says. “I love you.”

  She hesitates for just a moment and he kicks out, hard, catching her in the solar plexus. Then Samuel is up and into Beth, knocking her backward where she lands against the motor, breaking it from its wooden platform. The propeller comes out of the water, moving slowly, while the engine races in neutral.

  “You should have just drowned, Beth, it would have been far less painful,” Samuel says.

  “I don’t give up,” she gasps.

  “Admirable.”

  “High praise coming from a SEAL wannabe,” Beth says. “You’ll never make it, you know,” she says. Her hair is in wet tangles and her face is a sheet of pure white.

  “I won’t?”

  “You’re a coward inside. You’re a quitter. You take the easy way out. That’s got nothing to do with being a soldier. A soldier is all about honor and courage. You’ve got none of that. You’ll never be a SEAL. But you’ll always be a piece of shit.”

  He springs at her but she rolls out of the way and swings the oar from the bottom of the boat. It catches him in the middle of the forehead and stunned, he lands on his stomach on the bottom of the boat. He reaches out and grabs Beth’s left ankle. He wrenches it with everything he has and she screams as Samuel feels the knee collapse. Beth falls forward, over the motor. Her leg knocks the gear and it drops into forward. The boat lurches forward.

  Samuel rolls onto his back, still holding Beth’s left leg. He wrenches it again the other way and Beth screams.

  And then Samuel looks up.

  He sees the motor in Beth’s hands.

  Sees the prop comes down.

  Suddenly, the engine revs and the propeller is an invisible blur.

  And then she plunges the motor down.

  Into Samuel.

  Epilogue

  The gym is less than half-full. This surprises Anna. She had always pictured college basketball games as gymnasiums packed full of crazy, screaming kids with their faces painted in the school colors, waving banners and yelling at the referees.

  But here, the bleachers are empty for the most part. And not very many kids are here. It seems mostly to be parents, who tend not to paint their faces and wave banners.

  Anna shifts her weight on the hard wood surface. Her body has not fully recovered from the insanity of a year and a half ago. She had nearly died that night. She remembers nothing after cutting through the tape that had bound her, breaking the trunk release and confronting Samuel. The last image was of him swinging the fireplace shovel at her. After that, the new memories start in the hospital. Having her jaw re-wired, her ribs taped. CAT scans to see if there was any brain damage from when Ackerman had strangled her.

  But she was as good as can be, considering her life.

  At times, she still can’t believe the miracle. Initially, she had tried to email Beth’s highlight video to the prospective colleges, but the file had been too big and every attempt to email it had failed. That was why she put the video on a thumb drive and asked Ackerman to mail them.

  But, one of her email attempts had actually gone through.

  And it had gone to the right coach at the right time.

  A miracle.

  Anna’s thoughts are broken by the sound of the pep band blaring the opening notes to “Sweet Georgia Brown.” The teams run onto the court and Anna automatically searches for Beth, spotting her instantly. Anna watches her, amazed as always at the recovery. After the scene at Ackerman’s cabin, Beth had yet another surgery on the knee and then had thrown herself into rehab like a woman possessed. No more feeling sorry for herself.

  Now, Anna watches Beth move through the pre-game warm ups. She is moving smoothly and confidently. Maybe not as quick as she had been as a senior in high school, but with the same easy grace.

  Now, watching Beth, Anna thinks of the homicide detective from Detroit. Esposito. The one who’d told her all about Ackerman. About Peter Forbes, and that poor woman he’d killed and tried to make look like a suicide. She had been wounded far more deeply than the physical assaults. All those people. Gone. All because one sick mind put everything he wanted above everything else - above life, even.

  The shrill insistence of the referee’s whistle makes Anna look up. The teams are assembling at center court.

  The referee is ready to toss the ball.

  Anna finds Beth sitting on the bench. She watches her daughter shout out encouragement to her teammates. Beth is happy. Happier than she’s ever been in her life.

  She has thrown herself into her classes and is studying psychology. So far, she is acing all of her classes.

  The referee tosses the ball and the game begins. It is not until shortly before halftime that the opposing players drop into a 2-3 zone. Beth is immediately called from the bench by her coach and placed in the game. Anna knows that Beth has spent most of her time in practice perfecting her shot. Relieved of ball-handling duties, she has turned her uncannily accurate, purely fluid shot into something even more precise and deadly.

  The point guard on Beth’s team, a small, lightning quick girl brings the ball up the court. Beth fans out to the left side of the court.

  Anna sits back in her seat. She is calm. She knows what’s going to happen, and for her, it signifies the new life she and Beth have reconstructed since Samuel Ackerman walked into their lives and blew the old one apart.

  The point guard drives into the middle of the lane and the opposing players collapse the zone to protect the inside. With a subtle flick of her wrist, the point guard shoots the ball over to Beth who has squared up toward the basket, her feet behind the three-point line.

  Beth catches the ball deftly and in one silky motion brings the ball in and then up. Her arms and legs all working together effortlessly. The textbook demonstration of a pure shooter.

  As the ball lofts through the air, the backspin perfect, Beth’s hand hanging in the air in a perfect follow through, as the ball swooshes through the net with barely a whisper.

  THE END

  MARK TAYLOR: GENESIS

  By

  M.P. McDonald

  Copyright © 2012 M.P. McDonald. All Rights Reserved.

  Edited by Felicia A. Sullivan

  CONTACT ME

  Website: http://www.mpmcdonald.com

  Email: mailto:mmcdonald64@gmail.com

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  For Mom and Dad, who always encouraged reading.

  CHAPTER ONE ~1999

  Mark Taylor paused just inside the door of the pub while his eyes adjusted to the dim interi
or. As excited as Mohommad had been when he had insisted on meeting here, Mark was surprised he hadn’t been standing inside the door waiting for him like a little kid watching for Santa Claus. He glanced at his watch. Damn. He was over thirty minutes late thanks to the final shoot of the day running over, but being a fellow photographer, Mo would understand…probably.

  “Mark!” Mo waved from the end of the bar and pointed to the empty stool beside him. Winding his way through the room, Mark nodded to a few acquaintances and stopped for a quick hello with a couple of others.

  “Hey, Mo! How’s it going?” Mark clapped him on the shoulder as he slid onto the stool. After ordering a beer, he grinned at his friend and made a rolling motion with his hand. “So…? What’s up?”

  “I have a deal for you.” Mohommad paused while the bartender gave Mark his bottle of beer.

  “Uh-oh. I’m not sure I like the sound of this. The last time you had a deal for me, it didn’t turn out so well. ” The beer was cold and soothed a throat hoarse from trying to keep a bunch of little kids upbeat and happy during a shoot for a stain remover ad. Over and over the kids had to slide into home plate. He hadn’t had time to shower. Dust coated his arms, and it tasted like he had breathed in half the dirt from the diamond.

  Mo’s thick eyebrows knit in confusion. “What time?”

  “The time you begged me to take over the bridal party fitting and in return, you would do the portrait of the couple celebrating their golden anniversary? The boring fitting turned into a drunken bachelorette party.”

  A glint of humor lit Mohommad’s eyes. “And they thought you were really a male stripper?”

  Mark lifted his beer in salute. “Yep. The sweet old couple would have been a much safer gig.”

  “Safer?”

  “Yeah, safer. Those ladies goosed me so many times, I had bruises for a week.” Mark chuckled at the memory. The job had mostly been fun, but he enjoyed giving Mo a hard time about it when the opportunity arose. Mo owed him one on that gig. Drunken bridesmaids did not make for good group photos. He wondered if those photos had ever made it to the wedding album. He shook his head, the smile lingering. “Okay, so it wasn’t exactly dangerous, but it does make me just a little leery of any of your so-called deals.”

  “You have to admit, the thought of you being a stripper is pretty hilarious.” Mo chuckled and sipped from a glass of some kind of clear drink. Carbonation bubbles dotted the sides, so Mark ruled out water as the contents. Club soda? His friend’s mood sobered. “But I swear, this deal isn’t at all like that.

  “Yeah? What’s it going to cost me?”

  Mohommad gave him a sly smile. “Not that much.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow and paused with the bottle tilted towards his mouth before taking a sip.

  “Don’t give me that look. You’ll love my idea. You’re always going on and on about how you want to do something special, like the photographers who get photos in Life magazine. I’m telling you, this is your chance. You’ll be thanking me when you get a Pulitzer.”

  Snorting, Mark had to put the back of his hand to his nose to keep from spraying beer all over the top of the bar. He took a deep breath and laughed. “Really? Well, give it to me. Tell me all about this Pulitzer opportunity.”

  Mo took a sip of his own drink, but to Mark’s surprise, it wasn’t a beer, but rather a bottle of Sprite. “I’m going back to Afghanistan, and I want you to come with me.”

  “What?” It took a moment for Mark to process what Mo had said. “Why are you going, and more importantly, why do you want me to go?”

  Turning sideways, Mo faced Mark. “You know how I told you my father brought us here as children so that we could have a greater opportunity, right?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Well, mostly it was because of my mother and sister. My mother wanted more opportunities for my sister. I don’t know how, but she convinced my father and here we are.” He spread his hands then clasped them loosely, regarding them for a moment as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “All my life, my mother told me how women are treated poorly in Afghanistan and how it’s become even worse now. What I want to do is go and tell the women’s stories through photographs.”

  The idea intrigued Mark, but he had at least a dozen questions. “It sounds…interesting and certainly a wonderful cause, but I need to know a little more. Like why me? Why don’t you just do the photos yourself?”

  Mo nodded. “I knew you’d ask that. I have a couple of reasons. The first is, it’s going to be a big project. I figured two of us could cover more ground than I could alone, but the second reason is that you take amazing photographs. I take good ones, and technically, I’m probably better than you, but you have a knack for getting photos that show the soul of a person.”

  Mark studied his beer bottle as heat climbed his neck and raced up his face. Did Mo really think that? Elbow propped, he grasped the top of the bottle with his thumb and first two fingers, twisting it back and forth. He glanced at Mo. “When did you get so damn poetic?”

  Mo’s teeth flashed as he smirked. “Poetry sings through my blood, Mark. I’m so full of poetry, it almost chokes me unless I let it spill out from time to time. ”

  “Well, you’re full of something all right, but most people wouldn’t call it poetry,” Mark said, but he smiled as he drained the bottle.

  * * *

  Mark took a deep breath as he turned his Jeep onto the long gravel driveway up to his parents’ house. Flowers bloomed all around the sunny yellow house, and baskets of flowers hung at intervals along the wraparound porch. The sight was calming. Maybe his dad would keep his mouth shut about Mark’s career choice. They said there was a first time for everything. He grabbed his duffle bag out of the back and exited the car, taking the steps up the front porch two at a time, the habit ingrained from childhood.

  With a light knock, he opened the front door. “Mom? I’m here.” He closed his eyes and sniffed. Apple pie? He grinned.

  “In the kitchen, hon!”

  Dropping the duffle at the bottom of the step, he ambled down the hallway to the kitchen. “Hey, Mom.” He threw an arm over her shoulder and snatched a bit of crust off the edge of the pie cooling on the counter.

  “Hey, hands off! That’s for dessert.” She gave his hand a light smack, but he just laughed, already scheming how he could get a slice before dinner.

  “Do you have ice cream?”

  “No, sorry.”

  A pang of disappointment was short-lived as his mother gave him a sly smile. There was ice cream, he was sure of it.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  His mom waved vaguely towards the backyard. “He’s out there sharpening…something. I forget what.”

  “Is he on-call tonight?” Part of him was hoping his father would have to leave, but guilt stabbed him even as the thought dashed through his mind. He couldn’t avoid telling his parents about his upcoming trip so he steeled his resolve to break the news tonight no matter what.

  His mother opened the fridge and pulled out a tray of hamburgers and another of fresh vegetables. “The grill is about ready. Would you go throw these on?”

  Mark took the trays. “Sure.” He wasn’t much of a chef, but he could handle burgers on the grill. The zucchini and summer squash were a little more challenging. After tossing the burgers on, and setting the sliced veggies around the edges of the grill, he leaned against the deck railing. The backyard met a cornfield at the far end. Towards late summer, the stalks would tower over his head and playing hide and seek had been an irresistible temptation for him and his friends—until they incurred the wrath of the farmer who lived on the other side of the field. His father had hung up the phone after speaking with the farmer and given Mark the ‘Look’. After that, they could only go into the corn to look for a lost baseball. They lost a lot of them.

  “Thirsty?”

  Mark turned, his mind so focused on the past, he gave a mental start when he saw the beer his mom held out in offering. “Sure. Tha
nks.” He cracked it open and took a long swallow. The burgers sizzled so he lifted one to see if it needed flipping. Not quite.

  She had a glass of iced tea and took a seat on the lounger. “So, what brings you up here this weekend?”

  Mark shrugged. “Can’t a guy just want to visit his parents without having a reason?”

  “Of course, but you have something up your sleeve. I can tell.” She sipped her tea, her eyes thoughtful. “Is it a girl?”

  He cringed at the hope in her voice. If she had her wish, he would be married off and have at least four kids by now. It was no secret that she had always wanted more kids. “Sorry. There’s nobody special at the moment.” He dated occasionally, always searching for the right woman, but so far, none had whatever it was he was seeking. His parents told him he was too picky and maybe he was, but it was more than pickiness. It was as if he was missing something and had to find the woman who held whatever it was he was missing—like a crazy scavenger hunt, only he had no map or clue as to where to begin the hunt. “Anyway, it’s nothing major, just a trip I’m planning with Mohommad. He came out to dinner that one time.”

  “Sure, I remember him. Where are you going on your trip?”

  The smoke from the burgers wafted in the breeze, the aroma making his mouth water. He turned them over. “I’ll fill you in over dinner. Do want me to go get Dad, or do you want to?”

  She set her iced tea on a side table, stood and held her hand out for the spatula. “I’ll take over.”

  Mark surprised his father in the woodshop, and took a few moments to admire the bookcase his dad was working on. Some guys liked to relax by working on cars, or watching sports, but his dad’s hobby was woodworking. For years his father tried to get Mark interested, and while he could build a birdhouse or a simple bookcase, his heart had never been in it. He’d rather take a photo of the tree than carve it into something. He was thankful that his dad was hungry and not inclined to question him too closely.