by Ian Bull
He says he’s back on top and can turn a profit, but how? Or is he just trying to prove that what I wrote on the mirror is wrong, and his version of reality is right? Or is all of this revenge for me daring to leave him?
There’s a knock on the door and Xander steps in. He’s wearing designer jeans and a loose blue silk shirt and I can smell cologne on him. My God, he’s trying to look attractive for me, at this hour of the morning. I smile and he smiles back. My smile is from relief though—relief that he’s not Rolando.
“Good morning, my love,” he says. “Going over your lines?”
“These are the big scenes, I want them to be good.”
“I came to tell you tomorrow is the last day of shooting. We’re going to press through and get almost everything done today. All we’ll have left to shoot is the climax with Trevor and Bernard and we’re done,” he says. “When you rush into the other room and shoot your own husband.”
“What about the fight on the seaplane?” I ask.
“A second unit shot that scene in Nassau earlier this month, using stunt doubles. David and Nathan looked at the footage and all we need are your close reaction shots. We can shoot those today on the patio as inserts, with a wind machine.”
“Good idea,” I say, acting impressed. “But what about the last shot of me on the airplane, bringing both wounded men back to New York?”
“Don’t need it. The movie ends once you shoot your husband. The look on your face will say it all,” Xander explains.
“That saves time,” I say.
“In fact, we only need a skeleton crew for the climactic final scenes in the bedroom tomorrow, so most of the crew will wrap up today and leave on The Petrokolus tomorrow morning,” he says. “I think they’ll be glad to be going, considering their attitude.”
“Will Trishelle be leaving with them?” I ask.
“That’s for you to decide. That choice is still yours, Julia. It always has been.”
“I’ve already decided. I want to have dinner with you tomorrow after the shoot wraps. I want to celebrate—and more,” I whisper, and I put my hands on his chest and kiss his lips.
“No. We celebrate tonight,” he says.
“Tomorrow is my biggest day, I need to prepare,” I insist.
“We celebrate tonight. That will help you prepare,” he insists.
“Of course, darling, tonight,” I answer and smile one more time for him.
“And tomorrow we’ll use this room for the climax scene where you shoot your murdering husband,” he adds, “but I want the crew to set the lights now. That way, tomorrow we just have to put the camera on the tripod and shoot the final scene with the skeleton crew.”
“You want them to light the final scene now?” I ask. “But I have to take my shower and get dressed.”
“So? Grab some clothes and close the bathroom door and it’ll take you five seconds to get dressed. They’re on their way up the stairs.”
“Can I have a minute?” I ask.
“Why?” he asks back.
I touch his arm. I make sure he can feel my warm breath as I whisper, “Tonight is special, I want to find the right lacy things to wear without six gaffers and grips staring at me.”
He smiles back. “Two minutes,” he says and leaves the room.
I’m smart enough not to lock it. I push a chair to the sliding glass door and step up, then jump and knock the roll of gaffer’s tape off the end of the curtain rod. I catch it on the way down and throw it on the bed, then step back on the chair and jump again, catching the end of the long taped-up sheets and pull them down, almost yanking the entire curtain mechanism down with them. I land on my knees, then gather the sheets and stumble into the bathroom. I throw them into the tub and yank the curtain shut.
With forty seconds left, I run back into my room and yank open my drawers, which are full of the clothes he bought for me. I pull out a black push up bra, pink panties and some white stockings and lay them on the bed.
The roll of gaffer’s tape is still on the bed. I toss it through the open bathroom door just as Xander walks in. The tape sails over the curtain rod and lands in the tub, where the sheets absorb its landing.
Xander looks down at the lingerie on the bed.
“You like?” I ask.
“I like,” he says and smiles. “I like very much.”
“Until tonight then,” I say, and pull the duvet cover over them.
Xander steps forward, kisses me softly on the lips, and puts his hands on my shoulders and presses down. He smiles, keeps pressing, and nods.
He won’t wait. He wants it now. This was part of our relationship—he needs to dominate. I rebelled against it then, but that won’t work now. I kneel in front of him and unzip him and I reach into his pants.
He stops me. I wonder why he’s stopping his power trip, until I remember that he needs his blue pill to rise to the occasion.
“Come on in guys, she’s ready!” he shouts.
Six guys plow into the room while Xander zips himself up and I rush to get off my knees. One man snickers. The other five are embarrassed, and they hide their discomfort by starting to work. One rips open the curtains and the pre-morning light flows into the room.
“I’m taking my shower,” I say, and walk into the bathroom and lock the door.
I hear Xander laughing, and the one guy joins in. I grab a towel and scream into it.
My plan is ruined. There is no choice of waiting a day to steal more supplies, we must leave tonight. But how can I sneak away with Trishelle if I have to spend the night with Xander? I start hyperventilating. What do I do?
Then a voice tells me—stop.
He just humiliated me in front of other people. Why? I’m confused and upset, which is the opposite of how he should want his lead to feel on a stressful shoot day.
Then it hits me. He’s not thinking clearly, because he’s stressed as well. I remember the photos in the office and the rushed phone calls. His plan is being threatened somehow, which is why he’s pushing the schedule.
So now he’s frustrated and he’s lashing out at me, which is revealing. Since I woke up on his yacht I’ve been unclear on his true motivation, but he just exposed it.
He doesn’t care about my performance, or about making a good movie, or getting a return on his investment. He’s not doing it out of love, either, whatever love means to him. What he wants most is to make me suffer, and he wants other people to see him do it.
But why go through all this madness? Of a kidnapping? A movie?
I don’t know yet, but if I end up with Xander tonight, he’ll hurt me. There’s no option to stay, we must leave tonight. But if I want to guarantee that Trishelle stays safe, I should be with Xander tonight, so she can be on the yacht tomorrow. What do I do?
The voice in my head returns—do one thing at a time, and start by taking a shower. Get water running on your face and think.
I hide the sheets and the gaffer’s tape under the sink cabinet and then turn the water on. I look at my watch. It’s 5:30 in the morning and the sun is just rising. I have a little more than twelve hours to make my choice.
Chapter 31
Steven Day 10: Saturday Morning
We’re five hundred yards away from Nurse Cay when Carl waves me inside and points at the radar. There are three blips heading our way.
“I’m not sure who they are, but they’re tracking us,” he says.
The VHF marine radio chirps to life. Carl looks at me and turns up the volume.
“Boat out at Nurse Cay, any fishing there? Or are you pleasure cruising, over?”
Carl turns the channel from 7 to 10 and we hear the same message repeat, with a different voice, then he changes it to 11, and then to channel 18, and we hear the same message.
“He really wants to talk to us. He’s hailing us on every channel there is,” Carl says.
“How does it change things?” I ask.
“It means they know we’re coming and we’re changing the plan.
I’m going to motor past the top of Nurse Cay, slow down enough for you to roll into a Zodiac raft and head to shore, then head out past the cay and into the deep water of the Tongue of the Ocean,” he says.
“I’m doing this alone?” I ask.
“This ship is the only way back to Long Island and we can’t risk anchoring it. If I can get into deeper water I can avoid them, join some other fishing boats for cover, and then circle back and get you.”
We’re getting close to shore. A half mile away there’s a small break in the shoreline that marks the separation of Nurse Cay from Elysian Cay.
“You better get ready,” he says.
I take off my clothes and pull on the camo pants and boots Carl brought for me, then strap my pistol and GPS to my belt. I then slide the Kevlar vest over my head, tighten the straps, and pull the dark camo T-shirt over it. I roll up my shorts and blue T-shirt that I just took off and stuff them into a zippered pocket in my pack.
The sun is rising directly in front of the Gollywobbler, a yellow ball on the horizon that turns the grey water around us instantly blue. Silver fish dart back and forth in the shadow of the boat. The sandy bottom rises fast and we are soon next to the cay on the starboard side.
Carl cuts the engine and lets the boat coast. He comes back and we each pull a cord and the Zodiac dinghy falls off the stern and into the water. I climb over the railing into the raft and he hands me my pack, my M4 rifle in its nylon scabbard, and two oars. The boat has a tiny outboard motor, but it’s too risky to start it. Anyone listening will hear its high-pitched whine a mile away.
“I’ll pick you and Julia up right here at 0300 hours,” he says and then holds up his GPS. “No matter what happens, you wear yours, and I wear mine. Got it?”
“Got it,” I answer. I only have to row a hundred yards to get to shore, but I’m afraid to start. Instead I just stare at Carl, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“You’ll be fine, Quintana. No one is better at disappearing and staying alive than you. And don’t hesitate with Tina’s trigger, because they sure won’t,” he says. “Antennae up and head down, right?”
“Antennae up and head down,” I say, repeating his mantra back at him, and then start rowing.
Carl waves at me like I’m some hitchhiker he just dropped off, then heads back inside the wheelhouse and pushes the throttle. The Gollywobbler zooms off and passes the cay in less than a minute. Out in the distance the water turns from light blue to deep blue, which is the exact line where the depth drops from fifteen feet to over a thousand.
I row hard. There’s no current, just a warm wind rippling the water. The Zodiac hits the sandy bottom and I hop out with my gear. I attach my rifle scabbard to the side of my backpack with clasps that attach to the molle webbing. I can tell Carl had this designed special for him. I pull the pack on my back and everything feels snug and flush, but if I reach over my right shoulder I can pinch one clasp and pull out Tina. It’s muscle memory, and it’s strange how after five years my body still knows it.
I grab the bowline of the Zodiac and drag it up on the sand and hide it in the mulberry bushes. I then run south, parallel to the beach, weaving through the high grass. I spot edible stuff here too, like horseradish trees and sea grapes, and I’m glad Carl made me read the books.
I reach the end of the island in ten minutes, kneel down and look at my watch. It’s 5:50 a.m. I look out across from Nurse Cay to Elysian Cay, which is three hundred yards away.
Five minutes pass and I see nothing, just a bigger island with more palm trees. I take off my pack, pull out binoculars and watch for another five minutes until I feel safe. I pull my swim fins and mask out of my pack, take off my boots and socks, put them in the waterproof bag, attach it to my pack and slip it on my shoulders again.
I dart out of the trees and down to the shore and ease into the water on my hands and knees. I tug on my flippers and slide the mask on my face. I ease into deeper water and pull my rifle out and hold it against my chest—then push off the sandy bottom and start kicking on my back. I want my rifle already in my hands when I get ashore, in case someone spots me. When I reach deeper water, the current hits one side of my body. It’s moving fast, and I must kick hard to stay pointed at the island.
I look over my shoulder and pick a landing spot. Only another thirty yards.
Then I spot them—two men with rifles, looking north toward Nurse Cay. They’re standing in the exact spot where I was aiming to go ashore if this current hadn’t pushed me. The rising sun is behind me and throws glare on the water, but they will still see me when they look my way.
Underwater there’s a rocky bottom only eight feet down. I have to get there. I suck in a breath, drop below the surface and kick. My lungs are in good shape from surfing, but swimming with a heavy pack and rifle is not easy and my legs use a lot of oxygen. I grab a rock with my free hand, but the current tugs me off. I kick back to the rock and grab it with my free hand again, and the current pulls me off a second time. My lungs ache, but I can’t risk going up or losing my grip again—so I let go of Tina and grab the limestone rock with two hands. It takes just a moment to get a decent grip, and I reach for my rifle—and she’s gone. Over my shoulder I watch her slowly turning in a current pulling her into deeper water.
After ninety seconds underwater, I slowly break the surface and grab just enough air to go under for another minute. I’ve been held under for longer in heavy surf, so I can ignore the hurt. I break the surface and raise my head. The men are gone.
I crawl out of the water, pull off my fins and scramble into the trees, kneel down and listen. I hear their voices talking a hundred yards away from me. One of them laughs, which is a good sign.
I open my pack and dry myself off with a synthetic chamois towel. I squeeze water from everything, put on my boots, put away my fins, and eat a candy bar. The whole time I’m thinking one thing. I lost my rifle.
There’s no point worrying about it now. I just have to make sure I see them but they don’t see me, which is what I’m good at anyway. If things get rough, I still have one of Carl’s pistols.
I scan the horizon and spot a white dot heading north. That’s the Gollywobbler. I click twice on the two-way GPS Worldtracker. He clicks back twice. “I’ll see you in eighteen hours, Sergeant Webb,” I whisper to myself, and move into the trees.
Chapter 32
Julia Day 10: Saturday
I’m back on the patio in the same outfit from yesterday, a spotted sundress covered with the fake blood splatter from when Nicholas stabbed Mike in the back and then fled. We shot that scene yesterday, but it feels like a week ago.
The crew bustles around me, eating their Bahamian breakfast burritos while simultaneously raising lights and pulling cables. An HMI light shines through the silk material and then through a window into the “honeymoon suite.” This is where we will shoot almost all of today’s scenes, day into night.
I grab four candy bars from the craft service table and put them in my magazine bag and sit down. Will I even get a chance to eat them?
Then I notice I’m alone. Rolando isn’t hovering right next to me. Either Xander told him to back off, or Xander and he are arguing about whatever crisis is pushing them.
Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe tonight will work. Maybe I can dodge Xander—
“You need anything, Julia?”
I look up—it’s tall and lanky Walker. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a vintage Star Wars T-shirt, and he’s sporting a three-day beard. He’s a good assistant director; loud and assertive, but kind. He’s the on-set traffic cop who makes sure everything flows the way it should.
“No thanks, Walker. I’m just thinking.”
I stare at the crew hustling around me and notice that they’re all smiling again; it’s close enough to the martini shot that they can now imagine happier days ahead.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again.
I blink and look up at Walker, who still stands next to my chair. “It’s be
en a tough shoot is all.”
“You’re our trooper. You need anything, you just let me know,” he says.
I’m about to take him up on his offer when Rolando sits down next to me. Even though Walker is three inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Rolando, he doesn’t dare speak to him. He turns on his heel and leaves.
“You can relax, Rolando. Xander and I understand each other again,” I say.
Rolando narrows his eyes. “Too bad. I so badly wanted to work with you. I’m an artist too, you know. Art is about expressing the feelings inside you, don’t you think? When I was a child I was ashamed of my gifts. But now, I pursue my passion without shame.”
“Your passion makes me sick.”
Xander arrives, thank God. I pop out of my chair and kiss him on the cheek, which he loves. He’s got a razor cut on his neck, so I kiss my finger and touch it. “Did you cut yourself shaving for me?”
Xander smiles as I stroke his smooth face. I want him and the crew to think that I’m now completely his so he’ll relax enough to loosen my leash. Three crew people swivel their heads, then keep going. The word will spread fast, especially after the bedroom tableau he created.
“You’re going to be with me all day, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Right next to Nathan and David at the monitors,” he says.
“Then tell Rolando that he doesn’t need to hover like I’m a flight risk,” I whisper.
“He’s doing his job,” Xander says. “It’s all over at the end of the day tomorrow.”
“After tomorrow I never want to see him again.”
“You won’t, darling, I promise. But until then, he stays close.” Xander says, then he pats me on the ass and goes over to video village.
Rolando grins at me. I don’t think I’ll be snatching many more Snicker Bars today.
I make my decision. Trishelle comes first. The chances of us getting away are nil. I have to make sure she gets on that yacht with the rest of the crew tomorrow and gets away. That means I must finish today’s shoot, and spend the night with Xander tonight. It scares and disgusts me, but it’s my only option. Once she’s safe, I’ll look for my chance to get away. I got one on Eleuthera, maybe I’ll get lucky again.
