by Maggie Kane
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
MAGGIE KANE
© Copyright 2017 by Maggie Kane
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
Huddled in the corner of the dark, cold room, she tried to decide if she wanted to die. She listened to the drip of the sink in the corner and counted. 467, 468, 469. They were going to come back. She knew it. She strained to hear their footsteps. There was no place to hide, and terror welled up inside her again threatening to burst out in hysterical sobs. No more, she told herself firmly and with a monumental effort she tamped down the whirlwind of terror and anger. She rocked back and forth. 470, 471, 472. Heavy footsteps were coming down the hall. It was a heavy, dull thud, which meant it was the big one. At least his boots didn’t hurt as bad as the one with the pointy cowboy boots. “No, no, no,” she heard herself sobbing and bit her lips to make it stop. 473, 473, 473. She couldn’t come up with the next number as the terror blanketed her brain. She pressed herself into the far corner of her cell and prayed that he would walk by. The key slid into the lock. Her whole body shook with fear. This was the time he would kill her for sure. Tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked, and she tasted blood on her lips from biting them. The door opened, and the large silhouette paused in the door.
Emma scrambled across her bed tangling the bedding around her legs. She was breathing hard and looked around wildly trying to find the man. He wasn’t here. Or rather, she wasn’t there. She was safe.
Safe, Emma thought as she crumpled down to the bed feeling exhausted from the nightmare. She wondered if she would ever feel safe again. It had been weeks since the last night terror, and she had hoped they were gone for good. As she made her way to her small rented room to open the curtains, she decided it was time to leave.
The morning shone bright and true as she looked out onto the Mediterranean. The blue hurt her eyes with its brightness. Emma tried hard to find the beauty in its depths, but the dark shadows of her soul clouded her view. With a sigh, she turned from the window. After a quick shower that did little to rinse away her sense of unease, she packed all of her belongings into her hiking backpack and shouldered it. She dropped the key and settled her balance as she left the small boarding house. She needed to find some cash before she could move on and head down to the local job placement office. She couldn’t actually apply for a job there since she wasn’t a French citizen, but there were often job notices tacked up on the boards or people offering day jobs on the step.
“I need a clerk for the Star Pride. Now,” said a frazzled looking woman as she leaned over the counter at the receptionist. The girl looked mildly confused and asked her to fill out the application.
“I don’t have time for an application,” she snapped at the receptionist. To the room at large, she turned and announced, “I need a body that can run a register, speaks English, and can stay sober for a 10-day cruise.”
Emma didn’t hesitate. She stepped up to the woman and with a smile said, “I can do all that and more.”
The frazzled woman looked her over in her hiking boots, leggings, and a t-shirt. “Can you leave today?”
“I can leave right this instant,” Emma said and with a glance over the woman’s shoulder added, “And I think we should be going. It looks like they aren’t happy with you not filling out the paperwork.”
“Forget the paperwork. Let’s go.” The woman grabbed Emma’s arm and towed her out the door. In the bright sunshine, the woman squinted out over the water. “Right. I’m Bridget, and I’m in charge of the staff on the Star Pride. I don’t suppose you’ve ever worked on a cruise ship before?”
Emma shook her head and was about to answer, but Bridget cut her off. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. This is what happens when you hire a bunch of lay-about French. They always think that food and wine, especially wine, are more important than the job. Come on,” she paused and looked at Emma realizing that she didn’t know her name.
“Emily Tate,” Emma supplied using one of her aliases that had a matching ID.
“Emily. Right. Let’s get you a uniform. We sail in 3 hours.” Bridget marched off leaving Emma to scramble to catch up.
Three days later, the Star Pride docked at her first port of call on the little Greek Isle of Santorini. Emma had stayed aboard to keep the shops open for the few passengers that had opted out of the shore excursions. When Bridget checked in, she was slightly shocked when Emma asked if she could be paid in advance.
“I’m really broke, Bridget. I don’t have two Euros to rub together. I can’t even buy a candy bar out of my own gift shop. Please?” She and Bridget had gotten along well the last several days, and Emma could tell that Bridget liked her. “Besides, where am I going to go? It's not like I can leave. We’re on a boat.”
In the end, Bridget had caved in and paid Emma half the cruise in advance. At the next port of call, Kalamata, Emma talked another crew member into watching the stores while she ran to shore. Bridget was bemused, aggravated, and oddly hurt when the Star Pride sailed on to its next port about 10 hours later- without Emma.
Chapter 2
Emma stared at herself in the mirror. The short bob haircut made her look like a kid, but the deep burgundy hair color helped offset the juvenile effect. She frowned as she realized that she had to think hard to remember what her natural color was. A few months ago, she had deep brunette locks that hung in waves down the middle of her back. Her father always said it looked like polished mahogany. Her father had always loved her hair. I wonder if he would even recognize me now, she thought and quickly squashed that train of thought. Thinking of home was never a good idea.
She pulled on her hiking shorts and t-shirt and stuffed the Windstar uniform deep down in the trashcan of the convenience store bathroom. Emma felt a small pang at leaving Bridget in a bind by disappearing. She had enjoyed her few days on board the Star Pride. Her backpack was stuffed with food she had been stealing from the buffets and kitchen. There was so much food thrown away every meal on the s
hip, she didn’t feel bad for helping herself.
With a baseball cap over her newly cropped and colored hair, she wandered the city working her way to the outskirts. Dusk was falling, and she saw a promising looking motel. Half of the sign’s lights were burned out, there were 3 cars in the lot, and it looked like a good strong wind would blow it over. It was perfect.
Emma haggled with the desk clerk and managed to get a room for the night at roughly half of what he had originally asked. She pushed open the door to #3 and stepped into a sparsely furnished, slightly shabby room. She pulled down the sheets and inspected the bedding. It didn’t smell freshly laundered, but it didn’t smell dirty either. Best of all, no bugs or any disturbing stains.
The water rained down in a fitful trickle from the showerhead as she tried to wash away the grime of the day. She finally felt moderately clean, at least as clean as the bed she was about to sleep in. She pulled everything out of the pack to take inventory.
She had enough food for about a week if she strictly rationed. After paying for her room, there were 207 euros left in her wallet. She had 3 IDs and one credit card for extreme emergencies. She stuffed her bag with her odd assortment of clothes accumulated on her journey- a fisherman’s sweater from Scotland, a beret from her time in Paris, and a colorful poncho she bought at a market in Spain was her favorite. She also had a small tent with a broken pole that she had found in the garbage at a campsite and a light-weight sleeping bag, another garbage find. In the side pockets of the pack, she arranged the food. In a belt that she kept around her waist, she put most of the money, the IDs, and the credit card.
She slid between the sheets and marveled for a moment. A few short months ago, there would have been no way she would have stayed a minute in a room like this. So much had changed in the blink of an eye. She drifted off trying to concentrate on the blue of the Mediterranean, but the rolling green plains of the Midwest danced in her dreams.
She was gone before the day fully woke the next morning. The morning light was sliding into the sky subtlety as if it was trying not to be noticed. The dusky rose of the dawn light gave enough illumination that Emma walked confidently along. She had bought a map yesterday and was heading north for Tripoli. According to the map, Emma thought it would take her about 3 or 4 days to make the trek.
The sun was high in the sky by noon, and Emma’s shirt stuck to her back. No cars seemed willing to pick up a hitchhiker. She plodded along under the warm, September sun. She stopped to fill her water bottles at a gas station. Between pictures drawn on the back of a receipt, the storekeeper’s broken English, and some fairly ingenious charades on Emma’s part, she discovered that if she took the right fork in the road ahead, she would cut off some of the rougher walks through the hill country by staying more in the valley.
Several hours later, Emma was standing on the edge of a large vineyard with her map trying to figure out where she had taken a wrong turn. She had taken the first right, but the road had meandered around and split off several more times. She was now heading more east than north and had been for quite a while. This was not the road she was supposed to be on. She would have to go back to the split and get back on the main road.
Damn it, she thought. It would add an extra half day’s walk. She sighed and studied the map. She was tired and wanted to get close to where she could rest for the night. If she was reading it accurately, the map indicated that she could cut through the vineyard and meet back up to the road on the other side. She just needed to walk toward the sun to keep her heading west. With a mental shrug, she adjusted her backpack and slipped over the rail of the fence that surrounded the vineyard.
Chapter 3
Emma walked the dusty dirt path along the rows and rows of grapevines. It was just after the harvest, and the vines were bare and sad looking. Emma felt much the same and fought hard against the dark thoughts that tugged at her when she let her mind get too quiet.
A group of trees marked a crossroads. Emma swung her backpack to the ground and propped herself up against the trunk of a large olive tree. Enjoying a respite from the sun, she sipped her water. Emma decided that she would rest for a few minutes here, and then, hopefully, find the road before dark. She studied the map, but soon found her eyes bobbing in the gentle warmth of the afternoon.
Emma’s eye snapped open when a boot prodded her leg. She flung herself wildly away only to collide with a heavy built man standing next to the tree that she had fallen asleep against. He grabbed her to steady her and was speaking low and soothingly in Greek. Emma recoiled from his touch and stumbled back against the tree.
Emma shook violently as she sucked in deep breaths to calm the hysterical fear that was burgeoning in her chest. “Who are you,” she demanded in English. She tried to sound authoritative, but her voice had trembled badly, sounding like a frightened child.
The men exchanged glances, and in faltering English, the taller, burlier of the two replied, “Why you here?”
Emma’s trembling subsided a bit as she reoriented herself to where she was and perceived that she wasn’t in immediate danger. The men were dressed in work clothes, and Emma decided they were likely vineyard workers. She looked at them noticing that they must be brothers with their striking similarities. They both had thick curls that were in need of a trim. Besides their build, one was much lighter and leaner than the other, the only other major difference was the burly one had a mustache.
She ran her hands over her face and tried to fish in her mind for any Greek words she knew that might help. She hadn’t had much time to study the language and truly had only a handful of phrases.
“American,” she said pointing at herself. “Lost? Perdu,” she added trying some French. Their blank looks told her that they didn’t understand. She blew out a frustrated sigh and bent to grab the map. The men shouted and took several aggressive steps toward her in response to her movement. Emma jumped back and raised her hands. The men were not armed, but they were much larger and stronger than her.
“Easy fellas,” she said in English. She nudged the map with the toe of her boot so they could see it was only a piece of paper. She pointed at it and tried “Pou?” She wasn’t sure she had the pronunciation for “where” correct, but the smaller of the men looked at where she was pointing and seemed to make the connection.
Their rapid exchange in Greek was completely lost on Emma, but soon they were pointing to the pickup parked on the road and gesturing that she should go with them. She shook her head. There was no way she going anywhere with two strange men who had just figured out she was a lone, lost hiker. The smaller man snatched her backpack in a fast movement and walked toward the truck. The man she was beginning to think of as ‘stache took a few steps toward her and with a universal gesture of his arm communicated, “Ladies first.” She couldn’t leave without her backpack, and while she wasn’t happy about the situation, she really didn’t think they were intent on doing her harm.
Emma swung herself into the cab of the truck and ‘stache climbed into the back. The smaller man, who Emma decided to call Red for the color of his shirt, put the truck in gear and they were soon bumping over the dusty road. There was a tense silence in the truck. Emma ignored it and tried to take in the route.
Soon they pulled up to a large building. Emma smelled the strong scent of fermenting grapes immediately when Red opened his door. She grabbed her backpack, but Red pulled it away from her before she could get a good grip. She shot him a dirty look that he ignored as he pointed to the door of the building. With no other good options, she let herself be marched between the two men into the building.
A short, stout man stood with his back to the door looking out a window that viewed the huge vats. The year’s grape harvest must be stored there Emma realized as she looked around the office. Red was already speaking. The stout man turned around and regarded her with an unfriendly stare. He asked a few questions to Red in Greek, and then with a nod, he picked up the phone. Emma wasn’t able to follow the conversati
on, but she gathered by the tone that this new stranger regarded her with the utmost suspicion.
After he hung up, he dismissed the other two with a wave and indicated that she should sit in the chair facing the desk.
“I prefer to stand, thank you. Can you help me get to the main road?” Emma asked hoping the man spoke English.
“Sit. You sit,” he replied as he took a seat in the office chair behind the desk. Emma didn’t move. “Sit,” he said again this time pointing emphatically at the chair.
“I’m not a dog,” Emma muttered as she perched on the edge of the indicated chair. “Look, I just need to get to the road.” She looked around for her backpack and was relieved to see it sitting just inside the door. She started to stand to grab it, but the man barked, “Sit.”
“I get it. I sit. Pencil? Paper?” she asked pantomiming drawing in the air.
“Sit. He come.”
That got Emma’s attention. “Who? Police?”
The man just looked at her and then picked up the phone again. This time she recognized one word- police. Great job, Emma thought to herself. Why don’t you give him some more bright ideas?
“Look, this is all just a big misunderstanding. I just need to get to the road. Please.” Emma pasted her best puppy dog eyed look on her face and leaned in just a little. “Come on, just point me to the road. You don’t need this headache.”
