by Natasha Boyd
“Helloooo, sweet Oliviaaaaa,” he whispered. His eyes were jaundiced and dark around the dulled green irises, and his grin stretched wider to reveal his yellowed teeth. The scent of him assaulted me, making my stomach roll. Sour sweat or vomit, unwashed body and old ash, laced with a vague smell of feces. How had I not smelled him right away?
My thought immediately went to my phone sitting in a pile of rice, five feet and seventy miles away from me, not even working. Oh my God, I didn’t have a way to call Tom. Could he even answer? Was he okay? Agony and panic raced down my spine, and the air I gulped stuck in my throat, encouraging it to close. My chest and my brain pounded. So loud, so loud.
With my eyes pinned to Cal for any sign of movement, I counted backward like my therapist taught me, trying to slow my breathing and my heart. I needed to be able to get this under control, so I could function and think. But what if I couldn’t calm myself enough and I blacked out. What would he do to me then? That thought slung a lasso around my chest and yanked hard. What if I fainted and never woke up? Was that better than waking up and knowing what he’d done? Why would I want to wake up if Tom was dead?
I wouldn’t.
The thought made me oddly calm. Not unafraid, but calm. Was I giving up? I didn’t know. Maybe I was just paralyzed with fear. Tom would be so disappointed in me. I needed to fight. To survive. I looked at the phone on the wall.
“Tommy can’t come and save you this time,” Cal wheedled. “Tyler had to go take care of his mess, and him, and I get to… take care… of you.” He sucked in a whistling breath and shook his head, pleased. “I always get the best damned jobs.”
Cal’s hand moved to his dirty jeans and my eyes dropped to track the movement as he slipped a pocketknife out and released the blade. Then he leaned over to the phone cord next to him and severed it to drop into an impotent coiled mess on the ground.
A hot wet streak of liquid snaked down my leg and pooled into my shoes and onto the floor.
Had I always known I would end like this? It was pre-written. If it wasn’t Uncle Mike, it was going to be this way anyway. What had Tom said? It was just shit that happened to me? Well, yes. It was just shit that happened to me. To my body. I just had to survive it. But did I even want to?
Cal Richter looked at the pooling mess on the floor and took an exaggerated inhale, sniffing the air with his eyes half lidded. “Aaaah,” he rasped. “The smell of fear. Always my favorite way to begin.”
My eyes leaked as well, blurring my vision as my body completely betrayed me, and I stepped back.
He took a step forward and his smile got wider.
Was I dreaming? This was not happening to me. This couldn’t really be happening.
Stumbling as I tried to move back farther, my ankle hit the low table by the fireplace. I frantically cast my eyes around for something. Anything. There was nothing. I looked back just in time to see the back of Cal’s hand coming at me from my left. The impact stunned me, pain exploding in my face as my ears rang and black fog seeped into my consciousness. Salty copper flooded my mouth and hands grabbed at me before I fell, digging painfully into my arms. “No,” he growled. “No passing out, I haven’t had my fun yet.”
Whimpering with pain and panic, I twisted my body, trying to get free of his grasp. Fun? Fun? Something in me snapped. And I started screaming. It came from so deep inside, pulled from my very fingertips and the tips of my toes.
I screamed. Not for help. Just the desperate sound of my tired soul. I was done here. Done in this world.
I was vaguely aware of Cal trying to get his disgusting smelling hand over my mouth, and it made me laugh in the middle of screaming. Because no one could fucking hear me.
His fist found my other side and as more pain exploded in my skull, my screaming stopped.
Then I laughed again. I laughed through the pain. “Let me scream,” I said, through gasps. “No one can hear me.” And I started laughing again. “You can hear me, Abby,” I yelled and laughed, tears soaking my face, my ears ringing from the blows. “Take me home, Abby. Take me to where you are.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I heard Cal yell. “Who the fuck is Abby?”
“Do it. Rape me and kill me. I don’t fucking care!”
Suddenly there was an almighty yowl, and a white and brown streak of fur launched from above me and landed on Cal’s face, its claws digging in to hang on.
I had a split second. I took it and ran to the door, slamming it open.
Cal shouted in surprise and pain behind me. Please don’t hurt the kitten, I thought, but kept running, taking the chance the gorgeous little beast had given me.
He’d expect me to run down the road toward Mama’s so I veered away, tripping and scraping through the vegetation, hoping to intersect with the path that led to the beach. My foot caught something hard and I crashed down, breaking the fall with my elbow. Pain radiated up to my shoulder blade and neck making my teeth clench tight as I tried not to cry out, but I had no time to stop. I grabbed in front of me, my hand closing on a crude stone grave marker. I’d stumbled into an overgrown slave cemetery. At least that meant I was close to the sea. I lurched awkwardly to my feet.
The sound of breaking glass reached me, and as I imagined what he’d thrown through the window, a sob wrenched from my chest. The tears didn’t stop. But still I ran, finally merging with the path. My legs were cut to shreds, my breath pounding out of me until I crashed out of the trees and through the dunes to the beach.
Oh, God. My dream.
I stopped dead, chest heaving. Minutes ago, I’d asked Abby to take me home. Home to her. Was what she meant when she’d been on the beach in my dream? That I could choose to die?
I LOOKED LEFT, then right. Nothing but windswept, wide-open emptiness. The rough waves, still agitated from the storm, crashed and rolled up the shore. Thick gray clouds oozed overhead.
He was coming.
Did I want to end at his hand, or did I want to choose how I died?
There was no contest. I started running toward the water just as I heard his laugh over the waves.
My feet hit the cold, frigid surf, and it flowed in over my shoes. Instantly they were heavy and waterlogged.
“Do you know why they call this Bloody Point,” Cal called. And I turned to face him as he strolled toward me. Blood dripped down his cheek over the tattooed cross and onto the sand. “All those stinking Indians were rounded up and marched out to this beach. Men, women and children.” He smiled. “Slaughtered. This sand ran red with their blood.”
I took a few more steps back into the water, and he advanced. It began to rain again. Thunder rolled. I hadn’t counted on him following me. I shook, instantly familiar with the clawing terror that tried to paralyze my body. It squeezed around my chest, trying to stop my breathing, trying to stop my heart beating.
No.
This was my choice. I’d been on the swim team once. Abby’s little mermaid sister. I could outswim him. I toed my shoes off, then stripped off my shirt so I was just in my bra.
His hateful eyes lit up. “That’s it, baby.”
I shucked my shorts off too, then turned and headed for the waves.
Cal whistled. “A game, I love games.” He laughed with glee.
I kept going. It was so cold. But the rain and the wind on my skin made the waves seem warm by comparison. Inviting. I was up to my waist. A quick glance over my shoulder saw him start running into the surf to reach me. I guess he finally realized he didn’t have me cornered. I dived into the wave in front of me and kept going.
My eyes stung, and I couldn’t see anything in the churned up water. I ducked down and pushed forward, into a grasping current, swimming as fast and as far as I could. The water got colder, but clearer. Remembering the scratches on my legs, the memory of sharks in these waters, sent my heart racing. I embraced it. I wasn’t paralyzed with fear. I was terrified, but I was moving, I was working, I was escaping him.
When my chest screamed I broke the surface, h
auling in lungfuls of air and tasting pelting, sweet rain. A look back through sheets of rain saw Cal nowhere in sight. Was he hidden in a swell? Someone was on the beach, no, in the water. Abby? I gasped and choked. No. There was no one, I was going crazy from the panic. I kept moving, parallel to the beach now.
My limbs were tiring, and each stroke kept me longer under the surface, fighting a current that seemed to be coming from every side. Turning onto my back to save energy, I floated, squinting through the rain to keep sight of land. Patches of blue sky and sparkling sun fought with the rain.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to go to you yet, Abby.
I’d drifted far along the beach. Was it safe to go back? Could I get back against the riptide current? Where was Cal?
In a minute, I would surely gain strength and start swimming again. But lethargy was creeping up on me in my stillness. My body was exhausted from running, first from Mama’s, and then from the cottage. The water was cold. Hypothermia. I was cramping.
I’m not ready, Abby. Please. I take it back, I’m not ready. I want to try again. I’m going back. Will you let me forgive Whit, Abby? Can I have Tom?
A wave covered me, and I found myself looking up through the surface of the water as the rain fell. I spasmed, gagged, and inhaled the burning sting of salt water. I tried to close off my breathing, to stop it. I pumped my legs but couldn’t break the surface. My lungs screamed, then betrayed me and gave into the powerful need to inhale. Pain exploded in my chest.
My last thought as everything faded was that rain on the water looked like stars. It was the infinity and wonder of space. Except the surface was kind of blue from the sky and the ray of sun that broke through the clouds.
I stretched out my arm, but I would never reach it. Was this what Tom saw when he described a deep blue eternity?
“LOOK, WE ALWAYS fish in the Wright River, so we have every reason to be there. If we can get him as far as Elba Island Cut in the marsh, there’s no way he’ll make it back over to the South Carolina side,” I said in the cool dawn air.
For once I was thankful that while one could easily see Savannah from Daufuskie Island, it was a complicated trip through channels cut into the marshes to get there, giving us ample opportunity to carry out our plan.
I was pissed at Pete.
I’d relocated all the cargo Tyler had piled on his boat during the night to mine, stuffing it into the cabin, and set off, only to have Pete follow me, and catch up, ten minutes into my journey. I was halfway along the Fields Cut and he’d actually run up his Jolly Roger flag. I would have laughed my head off if the situation had been any different. “Prepare to be boarded,” he’d yelled across the inky water, his navy T-shirt and frayed khaki shorts completely at odds with his demand.
“Go back, Pete,” I countered at his figure in the dawn light. “This was my stupid idea. I’ll do my best to get back in one piece.”
“Shut up and throw me a line. We go in mine. We’ll tow yours.”
We couldn’t have a conversation shouting over the water, so I did as he asked. He pulled a little ahead, and I dropped a buoy to protect the hull and sidled up to his port side. I tossed him the line and hopped on.
“Pete, listen to me. I’m not sure we’re going to be able to do this. I don’t really give a shit about Tyler’s weed. Actually, I do. Dumping it makes me wanna cry. I’d love to smoke a shit ton of it right now, it’s been a hell of a night. But if we can’t get Cal Richter there, it’s all for shit. Tyler outright threatened Olivia last night if we didn’t deliver and part of me is wondering whether I should just do that. Deliver, this one time. But let me do it and take the risk, please. Go back Pete, and ask Marjoe to marry you. Have a grand old Lowcountry wedding with some fiddles and roast oysters. And keep an eye on Liv for me. Take the happiness you can get for however long you have it.”
“What the hell has gotten into you, kid?”
“Please, Pete. I’m serious. This is a fucking suicide mission for you; let me do it. I’m dead anyway, literally and figuratively, and I haven’t done one damn thing worth anything in the life I was given.”
He shook his gray shaggy head and tied the mooring for my boat to a cleat. Then he looked at me. “Tommy. Son.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been through more at your age than anyone should have to bear in a lifetime. He sat, his legs splayed and his hands holding his knobbly knees. “Anyway, I’m dead too.”
“Pete, that’s not—”
“The doc’s given me eight weeks at the outside.”
Shock hit me like a brick to the chest. “What?” Grief filled me and expanded at full speed. I looked away as my eyes stung, my heart tumbling over. “God, Pete,” I choked out. How many poundings would my heart have to take?
He continued, “This is important to me. Let’s get it done. Anyway, I let Gator in on it about fifteen minutes ago, it’s all lined up.”
We were wasting precious time arguing. If Gator was in the know, the cavalry was coming regardless. I gritted my teeth. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Pete nodded and we set off. Slowly, now that my boat was in the wake. As soon as we got to the prearranged spot, I climbed back aboard my boat. Each bale was wrapped in plastic, then a black trash bag, and put in a Styrofoam cooler like those used by day fishermen. I slit open the tape on one of the coolers and taped the Ziploc baggie containing the Graham Family Farms label, kindly provided by JJ, onto the bale. Then I resealed the cooler with more tape so water wouldn’t seep in. We tossed it into the marsh far enough that the grasses would keep it in place despite the current. We repeated the process. Soon there were pounds of weed bobbing amongst the grasses.
“Hold up,” Pete said as I opened the last cooler. He drew out his knife and sank it into the bale, dragging it open. The scent, even over the fresh pluff mud was strong and fragrant. He grabbed a large handful and stuffed it into a leftover baggie. I tossed Pete the tape to seal his hole and then the box. “Time to make the call?” I asked.
“I’d say so. Are we sure he’ll come?”
I shrugged. “It’s a lot.” I drew out my cell phone and checked my texts first. There was nothing from Liv. Then I dialed Tyler’s number.
He answered right away. “Is it done?”
I watched as Pete tossed the last box out. “God, Tyler, I’m sorry. Pete, he freaked out. He couldn’t go through with it.”
Pete then pulled a pack of rolling papers out of his top pocket. The old sod.
“Don’t fuck with me, Tommy,” Tyler said in a low voice.
“I’m not, Tyler. I’m so sorry. He got cold feet. I really need this money. Shit,” I added a touch of desperation.
Pete finished rolling the joint and pinched the end. He raised his eyebrows, offering me first. I shook my head.
“Oh my God, you better be fucking joking,” Tyler howled. “Shit,” he added and snapped orders out in the background.
“I don’t know what to do,” I continued, watching Pete light up. “Can you get out here and pick it up, and I’ll take it for you in my boat in the next few days? I will I swear. You just say when. Shit, I’m sorry. I really needed this. I’ll do it for less, I swear—”
“Shut up, Tommy. Where the fuck are you?”
Pete’s eyes crinkled up as he drew deeply. As far as I knew he hadn’t inhaled anything since his diagnosis, despite wanting a medical marijuana prescription. “He’s tossed everything into the marsh. It’s all just bobbing around out there. I tried to get him to turn around, but he’s heading to Bull River. Maybe you can bring Cal, or someone to help so you can get it done fast. You’ve gotta be quick. Right now the grasses are keeping it steady, but the tide’s up in a few.”
“Where is it?” Tyler snapped, his tone panicked.
“Elba Island Cut,” I said. “I’ll meet you in my boat and help.”
“No. Just stay the hell away. I need to be able to use you again.”
“Sure, sure, okay. Shit. I’m so sorry.”
Tyler hung up without responding.
“Okay, he’s coming.” I took the joint Pete offered me and brought it to my mouth. I inhaled, letting its writhing smoke fingers tickle my throat and lungs. Why did it always feel like it was alive? I held it in for a few seconds then released it into the dawn air. The sun would be up in thirty minutes. Tyler could be here in fifteen if he tried. And he would. “Let’s go,” I said and looked at my phone again.
Liv, Please text me when you get to Mama’s so I know you’re safe.
She never answered. Why would she?
My cell rang again. Tyler. “Yeah?” I asked. Maybe he’d misdialed.
“Just wanted to let you know, in case you were interested, Twitch will be with me. I’m sending Cal to babysit your girlfriend ’til I get my shit back.”
My soul fell out of my body, through the boat and sank into the waves.
Pete took a step toward me.
I stumbled away, falling onto my ass. The impact radiated up my spine, but the phone stayed at my ear. “Tyler,” I threatened. “You better fucking call him off.”
“Guess you should have taken care of my stuff, huh?”
I dragged my free hand down my face. Pete was staring at me. “God. Please say you’re shittin’ me. You saw how he looks at her. Fuck.”
“He won’t touch her. Calm the hell down. I’m just holding collateral.”
My gut twisted, and I grabbed my hair and pulled so hard my eyes watered. “He has a record, you dumb piece of shit! He’s been waiting for this. If he even touches her, so help me Tyler Graham, I will kill you with my bare fucking hands.”
“Well, Tommy, I guess you shouldn’t have been so careless then.” He hung up.
I stared at the phone, my chest heaving with rage and impotent terror. “God.” The voice that came from me wasn’t mine. “Oh, God.”
Pete was already on the phone. He turned away from me into the wind, and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was paralyzed. Why? Why had I been so fucking stupid?
