Obsessed

by Jenn Faulk

  Our room. I force myself to keep smiling.

  “But going back to the shore,” I say, still hoping to convince him to turn around. “Finding a place to get married—”

  “We’re not going back,” he says, and there’s finality in his voice.

  I smooth back Emma’s hair and try to think. If I go to the room, maybe I can lock the door. Maybe I can barricade Emma and myself in there. I can come up with a plan, find a weapon of my own to knock him out with, come up with something, anything.

  Emma stirs just a little in my arms, and I’m powerless again.

  There’s no fighting him now. Not when he has a gun. Not with Emma here. Not like this.

  “Seriously, Maggie,” he says, his smooth tone back as the familiar album continues to play. “Go and put Emma down. Then, go and get some rest. I’ll join you once we’re farther out.”

  What am I going to do? How am I going to save Emma? How am I going to save myself?

  We won’t be okay. We won’t ever be okay again.

  I look back over at the shore and say a little prayer.

  “I’m okay,” I tell Neil, pleading with God in my heart. “I’m okay . . .”

  ~Peter~

  I make two phone calls. One is to Detective Meyer. I tell him what I know: that Neil Palmiter has kidnapped Maggie and Emma and that the three of them are likely on a yacht somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico.

  That’s over half of a million square miles for a yacht to be on. Any chance I can narrow it down a bit?

  No. Not a bit.

  But even though my hacking skills have reached the limit of their usefulness, I have to do something. And so the second phone call I make is to Crystal.

  “Listen,” I say as soon as she answers. “Remember how you told me that Brandon bought you a boat for your birthday?”

  ~Maggie~

  We’ve been driving like this for an hour when I get up to see about a drink for Emma.

  “Neil,” I ask, standing up as she begins to stir, “do you have milk onboard?”

  “Of course, I do,” he says, turning and smiling. Leaving the wheel behind for a moment, he walks with me back down the narrow hallway.

  I’m still trying to come up with a plan to escape, but my options are so limited. So, for now, I’m just going to keep him happy, keep him calm, keep him from reacting . . .

  “You didn’t let me give you the grand tour earlier,” he says, taking us farther into the yacht. “You’ve seen Emma’s room. Her closets are also full of clothes, diapers, everything she’ll need.”

  He’s thought of everything. He’s planned this out almost too perfectly.

  My breath catches as he leads us into a bigger bedroom.

  This is part of his plan, too. Making me stay with him, forcing this to happen—

  “Maggie, look,” he says, opening up a door to reveal a full wardrobe, just for me.

  I’m so creeped out right now, seeing his clothes next to things he’s picked out for me. Shoes, dresses, shorts, shirts, even a couple of matching bathrobes.

  Emma whimpers. I feel like whimpering, too.

  “It’s perfect, Neil,” I say softly. “Can I see the kitchen now?”

  He simply smiles and closes the door on this extremely troubling room as he starts walking and we follow him.

  “Here,” he says as he leads me into a substantial kitchen. “All yours. All of this. The fridge and pantry are stocked.”

  I appreciate this. Well, apart from being kidnapped and having my child taken from me. Knowing that I have a way to feed Emma while I wait to think up a plan is reassuring, at least, when very little else is.

  “I even got sippy cups,” Neil says proudly. “Bet you’re surprised that I knew to do that.”

  Young, single guy who knows about sippy cups—yes, that’s surprising.

  “I know about these things, though,” he says, smiling at me, even as he pulls out a brand new sippy cup that looks just like Emma’s favorite. “I watched you for a long while before I got you all of this. Made sure I knew how to take care of you, Maggie.”

  He was watching us. In the grocery store likely. As I left for work every morning, putting Emma in the car. When we went to play in the park. On those early evenings when I studied out on the porch, with Emma on a blanket playing with her toys and drinking some milk.

  He was watching.

  “Thanks,” I bite out quietly as he hands me the drink. Emma recoils from him, even as she’s rubbing her eyes. I hand her the cup, and she knows to be wary.

  Neil comes closer to her with his arms held out as though he wants to hold her, just as we hear a faint buzzing.

  I look around at the appliances, thinking that the sound is coming from this kitchen.

  But Neil looks toward the stairs that lead to the upper deck, concern in his eyes.

  “Stay here,” he says, walking briskly past me as the buzzing grows louder.

  I obey stupidly for half a minute. And then, with Emma in my arms, I follow him up the stairs and out onto the deck.

  The buzzing is quickly explained.

  Out there in the water is a very fancy boat. Not as fancy as the yacht, but fancy enough to catch up to the yacht so that it’s riding right alongside us as we speed along. There are two people in it, and when I step up onto the deck, both of them point.

  Peter. Oh, it’s Peter!

  He found me! How did he find me?

  I say a thankful prayer for that program of his, for all the complicated hacking he can do that I don’t understand.

  And there with him on the boat is Crystal.

  I don’t even feel jealous. I feel nothing but gratitude that she’s here, too, watching what’s happening with me, with Emma, with Neil . . .

  Oh, Neil . . . the gun . . .

  “Maggie!” Peter shouts.

  “Who is that?” Neil asks, taking his eyes off them for only a second.

  He can’t know the truth. He’s totally unstable and will start shooting us all. He’s already proven that he’s not above killing people.

  I can’t let him know who Peter is.

  Or . . . well, maybe I can do something else. Something that will keep Peter safe.

  I’ll figure out a way to escape on my own. I have to keep Peter safe.

  “Oh,” I sigh, as though I’m very bothered by Peter’s presence. “It’s him. Peter.”

  Neil looks at me.

  “Maggie!” Peter yells again as Crystal keeps her boat even with the yacht.

  There’s going to be an accident if we both keep going this speed.

  “Neil,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. I can see Peter frown at this, even from so far away. “I’ll get rid of him. But I have to be able to talk to him to do that. Can you stop the yacht?”

  Neil looks at me incredulously as though I’m asking him to fly to the moon.

  “I can’t hear him,” I say. “He can’t hear me. Stop the yacht. They’ll stop. I’ll be able to get rid of him. Please?”

  My hand is still on his arm. I step closer to him. I can see Peter actually mouthing something, getting ready to yell—

  “Fine,” Neil says, brushing past me to go to the helm. As soon as his back is turned, I look at Peter and mouth I love you, hoping that he can understand and that he’ll know why I’m about to do what I have to do.

  He looks up at me and gives me a little nod, but he doesn’t keep his eyes off Neil for long. Neil—having cut the engine completely—is quickly back at my side, and Crystal idles the engine on her boat’s motor.

  “What do you want?” Neil shouts down to Peter. “And how did you find us?”

  But Peter ignores him.

  “Maggie,” he shouts up to me. “Are you okay? Is Emma okay?”

  “Yes,” I say, dramatically rolling my eyes. Oh, it’s hard to do this, but I have to. Peter will understand, and Neil will believe it.

  “Are you sure?” Peter asks.

  “Peter,” I say, stepping up to the rail and leaning
toward Crystal’s boat, “I’m fine. I appreciate the concern, but honestly? I hung up on you earlier. I thought you’d get the message, but apparently, you need it spelled out for you.”

  Peter continues to watch me as I lie to him. Neil does, too, looking from me to Peter critically, as though he’s trying to figure out what’s true and what’s not.

  “I want you to leave me alone, Peter,” I say. “I’m with Neil now. And you need to stop bothering me.”

  Neil has stepped up to the rail also. He puts one arm around my waist, making me feel repulsed and angry in equal measure.

  And in an instant, I can see how this is going to end. Peter’s going to get it. He’s going to leave with Crystal and go back to the mainland for help. The police are going to come along with the Coast Guard. It’s going to be a hostage situation. I’m going to be holed up down below with Emma. And Neil? Is he going to let the two of us go? Do I honestly think he’s ever going to let me belong to anyone but him?

  I don’t. I’m either really his, or I’m dead. Somehow I know that those are the only two options that lie before me. Before Emma.

  Unless I can make a third option.

  I look at Peter, pleading with my eyes that he’ll understand what I’m thinking. It could be my imagination, but it seems that he does . . . that he gives his head an almost imperceptible nod.

  I give him a tiny nod back, and then lean slightly forward, hesitating for only another second before dropping Emma into the water below.

  ~Peter~

  Even as Emma is falling through the air, my feet are scrambling up onto the side of Crystal’s boat, and I hit the water just after Emma does, popping up beside her and lifting her as high as I can. It’s very hard swimming with her—my shoes and khakis were already weighing me down and now I can’t use my arms. When I finally get her over to the side of the boat, I tread water as hard as I can, trying to hand her up to Crystal.

  “Go,” I say. “Do you understand? Go, go, go!”

  Crystal nods, leans down, and lifts Emma from my arms. Placed on the floor of the boat, Emma—apparently over the shock of falling ten feet into the ocean—begins screaming with an intensity that rivals what she was doing the day I discovered her in Bonita Springs, and Crystal, diving for the throttle, launches the boat forward, nearly hitting me with it as it starts to move. I hear screams from Maggie, and as I look back up, I see that Neil now has a gun in one hand, that he’s pointing it at the boat as it pulls away, and that he has a tight grip on Maggie with his other hand.

  “No!” Maggie cries. “You’ll hit Emma! You’ll hit Emma!” Neil, however, seems much more concerned with keeping Crystal from getting away than he is with not harming Emma, and he fires anyway. One shot . . . two shots . . . three . . .

  But Maggie is struggling mightily, and I can tell that her efforts are throwing his aim way off. I glance back at Crystal’s boat and, as it gets further and further away, I still hear Emma screaming at the top of her lungs, letting me and her mother both know that while she may be way beyond unhappy, she is unharmed.

  I turn my eyes back once more to the deck of the yacht where Maggie is still doing everything she can to keep Neil from pointing that gun. He finally shoves her away from him and—when she comes back with renewed fury—hits her in the face with it. I hear the sickening sound of metal against flesh as Maggie falls backward onto the deck of the boat. And then Neil—with nothing keeping him from taking careful aim this time—levels his gun at me.

  Without even thinking, I raise my arms above my head. I force the air from my lungs. And I start to sink, just as Neil begins to fire.

  ~Maggie~

  I’m stunned for just a moment after Neil hits me in the face.

  But only for a moment. I can see him pointing his gun toward the water. Crystal and Emma are too far away now for him to hit them, surely, but Peter . . .

  The very thought has me scrambling to get back on my feet, ignoring the pain in my jaw, and reaching for Neil’s arm again.

  Instead of hitting me this time, he grabs me by the arm, hard, and begins forcefully dragging me away from the rail.

  “Bad idea, Maggie,” he says, and he’s angry now. So angry. “All that I’ve done for you, and this is how you thank me?”

  I’m searching the water frantically for Peter, praying that he didn’t get shot.

  Just as Neil begins pulling me away by the hair, yanking me toward the rooms down below, I twist around enough to look out at the water again, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Just a glimpse. Something to give me hope . . .

  But there’s nothing. No trace of Peter at all.

  I begin to cry, knowing what this means.

  ~Peter~

  After Andrew learned to swim, and once he could hold his breath for a decent amount of time, Dad took the two of us to Rainbow River, about a hundred miles north of Tampa. There, millions of gallons of fresh water bubble up from vents along the river bottom, and the three of us had spent an entire day snorkeling and exploring. By the time we headed for home, both of us could spend a minute or more, ten feet underneath the surface, feeling the warm water rushing from the bottom of the river.

  Now I sink even deeper than the deepest vent in the Rainbow River. Down, down, down. And then under. Under Neil’s yacht. I look up, seeing the silhouette of the boat and the sparkling of the sun against the ripples on the surface. I head toward the bow and come up touching the slick white fiberglass, where I know Neil won’t be able to see me.

  There’s nothing to hang on to, so I quietly tread water for a minute as I work my way out of my shoes and then my khakis. It’s not until they’re sinking to the bottom of the Gulf and I’m in the middle of peeling off my shirt that I begin to rethink that decision. But I can move now, and I can do what I need to do, so I let it go.

  What I need to do is to get on board. Maybe I can’t do that after all. There’s certainly nothing to hold onto or raise myself with. I’m definitely not going to be able to climb up there from here.

  Keeping close to the boat, I edge my way along the side. There’s still nothing I can use. No way to get onboard.

  What it boils down to is that I’m going to have to go to the stern. Where there’s no overhang for me to hide beneath. Where there are props that can maim or kill me if Neil decides to start the engines.

  While I’m hesitating, I hear Maggie screaming from somewhere deep inside the yacht. I take a deep breath, and then I sink again.

  ~Maggie~

  Struggling to get free at this point is fruitless.

  For all that Neil said about what I deserve and how good I was going to have it with him, he sure isn’t living up to his end of the deal now, pulling on my hair and pushing me around roughly, then down onto my knees as he gets me into the master stateroom.

  Our room.

  The grief I feel over Peter is eclipsed by something else now, as Neil looks at me menacingly, the gun still in his hand.

  Fear. The fear is taking over now.

  He’s going to kill me.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him as he frowns at me, just as he’s turning away from the door.

  “What am I doing?” he asks. “Trying to salvage what you’ve attempted to destroy, Maggie! I’m not sure how your little boyfriend out there found us, but he won’t bother us anymore.”

  He won’t. Oh, he’s gone, and it’s my fault, all my fault for dragging him into my mess of a life. I think about his father, about his brother, about the losses they’ve been dealt in life and how Peter, now Peter . . .

  “Unfortunately, we have the other lady and Emma now to worry about,” Neil says, sneering at me. “If she just took Emma and ran, she’d be doing me a favor. But she’ll call the police, won’t she? Keep on stirring up trouble! Why did you do that, Maggie? Why did you let Emma go like that?”

  And with this, he points the gun at me. I’m not sure if he’s just gesturing for emphasis or if he really means to shoot me.

  I pray that it’s the former as I
prepare to lie. Again.

  “I dropped her,” I say, noting that I’m in a begging position, at his feet, totally at his mercy. “Do you think I would have intentionally dropped my baby into the ocean? It was an accident, Neil. I was just so upset that Peter followed us out here. You heard what I told him! You heard me tell him that I was with you and that he should go away—”

  “Then, why are you crying?” he asks, the gun still pointed at me.

  Because you’ve killed the man I love. You’ve destroyed any happily ever after I could ever have. Because I hate you so much that I could kill you with my bare hands. Because you’ve turned me into this.

  “Because Emma,” I say, sobbing now. “Emma . . .”

  “Shut up!” he yells. “Stop lying to me, Maggie! It makes me so angry that I could . . .”

  “Kill me?” I ask, looking up at him, just as angry as he is now. “What would be the point of that? All of your work, and for what? To end up killing me? What a waste, Neil! What a waste of all your hard work!”

  This hits him, the magnitude of what he stands to lose if he kills me. I’ve been his obsession for years now, all that he’s been living for, everything. Killing me now would take away his purpose. He can’t be with me, can’t have me love him, if he kills me now.

  I have the upper hand. For now, at least.

  Neil seems to understand this, and it’s making him desperate. His hand shakes a little as he holds out the gun.

  “You have to be good now, Maggie!” he yells right back. “You have to stop lying and trying to trick me, or—”

  “Or what?” I cry. “You’ll kill me? You’ll be all alone? You’ll never be with me?”

  This has the desired effect as he is so frustrated that he loses his concentration for a moment, putting his arms behind his head, the gun still in his hand, as he suppresses another string of exclamations about how I’m ruining everything.

  I see my chance. With the gun finally off me, I see my chance.