North by Northeast

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Oatmeal stayed down, and Lori was thankful that it did. Fruit and soda worked as well. Of course, the soda and crackers which she nibbled on continuously helped settle her stomach.

  Darkness wasn’t her friend. If she didn’t leave the bedside lamp lit, the room went dark. Having a light on helped Lori keep the fears at bay. But she knew when night fell.

  The person who’d blacked out the porthole had left a few places through which light entered. She tried peering out through the narrow cracks around the blacked-out glass but saw nothing other than water.

  If she could see out, Lori doubted she would recognize where they were. Her captor’s motives were to keep her off balance and afraid. Control seemed to be his goal. Aware of the intended result, she could only do so much to fight back.

  Fear was a given. It rolled around in her and refused to be driven away. How would those looking for her find a sailboat on the Pacific Ocean? If they didn't find her, would they give up looking?

  Thinking — no, Lori amended that — praying Hamish would badger and push on the police until something happened, she admitted it was past time to re-evaluate a few things in her relationship with her husband. By nature, Hamish was a man dedicated to family and wanted one desperately.

  Both of them had come a long way from the two people who had begun this journey. She thought about the wedding on the boat years before. Hamish seduced her into marriage and refused to let her go.

  Then, four years ago, they found themselves deeply involved in finding Vincent Slaughter's murderer. Several barriers came down during those days. But in many ways, Hamish had progressed further than she did.

  Reserve came much easier to her than inclusion. It wasn’t easy for her to allow people into her personal private space. As much as she loved the man, Lori always held something back. It wasn’t Hamish’s fault; it was hers.

  Her inner self-interpreted Hamish's efforts to keep her safe as attempts to exert control. Her rebellion, which landed her in this horrid situation, was rooted in a deep need for independence.

  Her kidnapper, Day, fit the label of controlling bastard. If she hadn’t been nauseated and vomited all over his pretty little prison, she would still be there. The handcuff would still have her chained to that small bunk in a windowless cell.

  Vincent Slaughter was a man who sought to exert control over others. When he tried to force Francie into aborting her unborn child by any means possible, he caused his own death. Vince’s reasons for attempting to push people into things didn’t matter. The effects did.

  The first man she had allowed into her private space was another who sought to manipulate individuals and things to his advantage. He plotted and planned just like Vince and this man, Day.

  Hamish was a nurturer, not a destroyer. That was apparent in the way he dealt with people. All the members of his old band were still his friends. Even the ex-bassist for the band was still a mate.

  When she got back in the glen, Lori needed to make some changes to their relationship. There were things she and Hamish needed to talk about. She loved him, and it was time to let the walls down.

  They would have a child. A circumstance which would certainly result in her husband becoming even more protective. Lori decided it would be best to allow Hamish's inner Highland warrior to do his job. There was something to be said for being loved and cared for.

  Thinking about the glen their little place far from the bustle of Glasgow wasn’t comforting. It brought fears of never being there again to the surface.

  At this moment, she needed to do something physical. If she could keep busy, the fear would recede and have less chance to overwhelm her. To keep from going crazy, she inventoried the contents of the closet and bathroom cupboards.

  Unfortunately, she found nothing which might be useful to help her escape. Anger helped push back against the panic. Lori tried to stay angry at her situation. But that was difficult.

  She had no one to curse. Juan was the only individual she saw. The mild-mannered seaman was as terrified of Day as she was. Juan’s quiet demeanor did not lend itself to the kind of anger she needed to raise to keep going. Again, the pool of terror inside threatened to overrun her.

  The moment the ship pulled away from the dock a seed of despair had flowered within her. Lori slept as much as she could, an easy thing because her pregnant body craved sleep. Her conscious thoughts fed the terror. But some things followed her.

  Regret raised its nasty little head. Her rehashing the decisions she’d made earlier in her married life wasn’t constructive. Her intellectual knowledge of the situation and her ability to control her reactions were two different things.

  The biggest regret she faced had to do with her decision to wait to have children. Why did she feel it best to delay? Many of the decisions she’d made regarding starting a family with Hamish revolved around her fears.

  He was ready to take on the responsibility of a family far sooner than she. If she didn’t get out of this alive, Hamish would have nothing and no one.

  The thought of him alone with no one to love him caused her to bury her head in the pillow. Yes, he’d coaxed her into marriage. She wanted to wait on tying herself to anyone. Somewhere, in the bottom of her heart, Lori had been afraid she would find herself divorced and dealing with children on her own.

  That realization caused her to groan out loud. She hadn’t expected the marriage to last. Her doubts had colored every decision they made. He appeared to agree with her on waiting to have children. It occurred to her the man would agree to almost anything to keep her happy.

  Was his agreement given because he felt insecure? Was Hamish afraid of what she might do? Lori admitted to herself of the two of them, she fit the term "temperamental artist" far better than Hamish. He was the rock in their relationship, and she was more like a butterfly darting off at the merest hint of a need to be responsible.

  Poor Hamish continually put up with being shat on by a butterfly. A picture flashed into her mind for a moment of one of the large rocks bordering the stream in the glen. A beautiful butterfly landed on it for a moment before darting off again. The picture caused a giggle.

  If she got out of this horror alive, there would be changes made on her part. She hadn’t appreciated how much the man loved her. She had a good man who put up with her moods and did so with grace.

  Thinking about getting out alive so she could show Hamish how much she loved him, let the dread creep back. Once it sunk its claws in, it didn’t want to let go. Lori wept. The tumult of emotion she experienced resulted from the pregnancy. Her hormones were out of adjustment.

  That coupled with the fear and horror of the kidnapping, caused her system to go wacky. All the mental observation regarding the reasons for her fear did nothing to beat it back. Lori couldn’t stop the tears.

  After some time wallowing in misery, she decided this would not do. Hamish would not let them stop looking for her. For all she knew, the Coast Guard was searching for the boat now. Given the size of the stateroom and private bath, this vessel wasn’t some tiny little thing that could sneak around the west coast unnoticed.

  Whatever the slick, slimy man wanted her to do, she would find some means to stall him off. There would be a way of dragging it all out, and she would find it.

  Determination renewed, Lori waited for Juan to come to the stateroom. If she pestered him enough, he might tell her something.

  ***

  Juan hoped Elden had got away. At least then someone would have escaped the filthy man. He wondered if Day would brag about catching Elden. It was possible. The murderer would want to make sure his captives understood escape attempts wouldn’t be tolerated.

  He’d heard Elden leave the ship and run up the dock. Juan didn’t sleep well on this horrid craft. Not that it was the fault of the beautiful boat. Juan had seen too much on this vessel. It was a cancer in his soul.

  He made confession of all the reprehensible deeds in Mexico. There, the priest would not be tempted to go to the au
thorities. In its own right, this was a slave ship. Locked in despair, Juan’s depression grew daily. He wondered if he was beyond redemption.

  Each passing year caused him to wish for judgment to overtake him. Justice would be a freak wave rising to take the ship and all on it to the bottom of the ocean.

  The two bodies rotting in the Baja desert haunted him. The first murder had left him numb for days. Hired as a crewman in Cabo two years before, he was unprepared to be a witness to the killing. Appalled, he helped to bury the body, shaking as if afflicted with palsy.

  He and Louis received a command to take care of burial detail. Day shot the man on the deck of the ship. The man had cursed Day before the evil one pulled the trigger. Just thinking of it caused Juan to swallow convulsively.

  The other woman begged. Down on her knees, the artist pleaded with Day for her life. For days afterward, Juan found it impossible to sleep. He couldn’t get her voice out of his head.

  Now, the bastard had seized another woman. Not only did Day plan on taking the Senora's life, but also that of the child. He understood the Senora was pregnant. With three little ones at home, he knew the signs well enough. Her reasons for keeping silent were easy enough to understand.

  It weighed him down, pulled on his soul. He was almost desperate enough to begin plotting ways to take his own life. As a good Catholic, he shouldn’t think of such things. But his situation was becoming unbearable. If he went overboard, what would Day do? Surely the man would cut his family free; there was no reason to burden himself with a widow and children. Perhaps it was the only way to get freedom for his family.

  He planned to take fresh fruit to the Senora. The woman would probably nag at him again to give her information. She wanted to know where they were going. He did not want to tell her, not that it mattered. The small village deep in the mountains was so isolated he doubted she would recognize the name.

  The ghost town had long ago lost significance to the world. How many people remembered the only place in Southeast Alaska accessible by road? If she learned the place didn’t have so much as a policeman, it wouldn’t help her.

  Juan didn’t wish to dampen the spirit of the Senora. Spirit, she had. A bold woman, a woman full of life. Juan felt sorry for the husband she would leave behind. Surely, he would mourn this one.

  Juan wondered if the man had knowledge of the little one and hoped he didn’t. Her loss would be sufficient misery for any man.

  None of the crew spoke of their circumstances anymore. At first, they’d plotted. Together, they hatched a plan to throw Day overboard. Then they could make their escape. They and their families would be free.

  But Day must have heard something, as he casually let it be known that if the Sunny Day did not come home with its owner, their families would not live. Now the three of them hardly ever spoke. What was there to talk about? The ship plied the coastal waters as silent as a tomb unless there were orders given. For all its beauty, the Sunny Day was a dark thing, devoid of life.

  Juan opened the stateroom door to chaos. The woman had pulled everything out of the cupboards and closet. The clothing lay in piles on the floor. Drawers sat on the bathroom floor with their contents rearranged. It seemed she had found a need to do something.

  She lay on the bed with her head covered. With no wish to disturb her, Juan quietly placed the items he’d brought for her on the nightstand.

  However, she might escape from this for even a moment, was good. Juan wished he could help her somehow. With a shake of his head, he turned away. Quietly, he walked out into the corridor, locking the door behind him. This one would hurt him the most. Next time he would ask the priest for a painful penance. Even if God forgave him, he was not sure he could forgive himself.

  Louis saw him on his way back to the galley. "He is asking for his dinner."

  Juan raised his head. "Will you tell him it will be late? The stove, it is not behaving."

  Louis shook his head. "He will be furious. Perhaps you should tell him."

  Juan shrugged. "If I tell him, it will take longer."

  "There is nothing we can do for her." Louis sighed. "I will go tell him. But it would be best if you did not do this again."

  Juan nodded as he turned away to stir the vegetables in the pot. "Two more days and we will be in the other place. I wish God would strike this ship. I do not think I can do this again Louis."

  The other man turned away to go deliver the message to Senor Day. His meal would be late due to unavoidable circumstances.

  He had turned it every way in his mind he knew how. Hamish felt as if his head were spinning. Two things he knew for sure. He needed the lock picks; thankfully those were on the way. The other thing he was sure of was that he would be the only person on the schooner. No one else was going to be accompanying him. One wet suit was all he would need.

  A rubber raft was another thing to add to the list. If the boat they rented had a dinghy, it would help. He foresaw a need for a second raft. The only way to get on the Sunny Day would be from the water, and that required a dinghy or skiff.

  Lori would leave by herself before he did anything to get rid of Day. If he blew the bloody schooner to bits, he wanted to have a means of escape before it went up. His getaway would require a second small boat. Most rubber life rafts were dark in color, something to his advantage, if someone were shooting at him.

  In the event he had to get into the water, a wet suit was a plus. Also, they were black, which was another plus. He didn’t see a need for air tanks or a weight belt. Any swimming he had to do would not be part of the plan.

  The map he had depicted the entire Portland Canal as being narrow and quite long. Stewart, British Columbia, and Hyder, Alaska, were buried in the mountains at the very end of what appear to be a seventy-mile-long narrow finger of water.

  He intended to bring the boat he rented in and anchor on the Canadian side of the line, in Stewart. Even if he had to swim, it would not be far. But it would be cold, Hamish was quite sure of it.

  A variable spun into his head, causing him to squirm in his seat. What condition was Lori going to be in when he released her? Would she be able to handle a simple rowing chore? To the best of his knowledge, Lori was a young, strong woman. It was an assumption Hamish intended to adhere to.

  It was impossible to plan for every eventuality; he understood that. There were some rational judgments he needed to make. The basic plan would need to be formulated taking those things into account. If something needed to be rearranged on the spot, he would deal with it then.

  But he would take things which might prove helpful if the need to change the plan on site arose. Hamish decided he would take some strong nylon cord with him, at least twenty feet. His knife was going with him, not some bleeding huge knife supposedly useful for underwater use. But he would need a sheath for it. The pick kit was a given.

  Now, how was he to carry Thud's little surprises without them getting wet? He would need to investigate that further.

  They needed the police, some country's police, to pick up the pieces. From what he understood, the Mounties had no seagoing presence in Stewart or the Portland Canal. In the US, it was the Coast Guard who handled problems on the water.

  How could he get them seventy miles up the Portland Canal? He imagined they could be counted on to respond to a mayday. If he added those miles to the distance from the nearest Coast Guard base, or vessel, distance decreased the odds of them getting there before the bastard escaped, or the pieces washed out to sea.

  If he sent them a mayday before they were needed, that would put him on a time limit. But it was the only reasonable way he saw to get the law where it needed to be in time. He would have to calculate some kind of time frame.

  A second marine radio would be required. They would dump it when they finished with it. They could not, absolutely must not, send a false mayday from the vessel they rented. It would certainly put them in jail. It would be difficult enough keeping all of them out of trouble as it was. He d
id not wish to wind up in prison for life for eliminating Day from the world. But if he had to give up his freedom for Lori, he would.

  As much as Hamish did not want to, he was forced to continue to plan Day's murder. Day himself had given him no choice. Lori's safety was at the top of the list, no matter what he had to do to secure her position.

  But it was his responsibility. He had to keep the others out of the actual committing of the murder. They had to have a way to get out. It was essential to keep them from becoming accomplices. If only he could find a way to keep Day on the boat until the authorities could get their hands on him.

  Hamish decided he must call a halt to it for a while. What he needed was another few hours’ sleep. They still had the entire morning to discuss his tentative attempt to put a plan together.

  They sped through the spring night. Glen had not bothered him with talk. Hamish hoped Glen was not getting too sleepy. "How goes it, Glen?" Hamish quietly asked, as he did not want to wake either Thud or Lurch.

  "Okay, man. I'm good. Why don't you try to catch a nap? I have a few hours left in me. If I need relief, we'll see if Thud can take over."

  Hamish groaned softy. "That is ah frightening thought."

  "Then don't worry about it right now. See if you can turn it all off. You're burned out," Glen replied.

  Hamish put the seat back, ready to try sleeping for a while. Rest would help his thought processes.

  Glen turned his head to watch as Hamish tried to make himself comfortable. What they were doing was crazy. Not that it mattered. He would have gone to hell for Hamish and Lori. Hyder wasn't anywhere near close. The race to get Lori back from a homicidal rich gangster was pushing it, but what else was he planning on doing for the next month?

  Not to mention, if Francie found out he’d had a chance to help Hamish and hadn't, she would take pieces out of his hide. He watched the signs indicating he was reaching the head of the Fraser Canyon. Big trucks roared past as they blew through the tunnels scattered along the road through the gorge. That was a real trip. He was careful to stay on Highway 1 as he breezed through Lytton. This would be an interesting drive in the daytime.