by Dan Ames
I bent down to grab it.
Terrace moved too. His hand wrapped around the little green box and he jerked something out of it: a hypodermic needle.
The drug.
He bit down on the plastic cap that covered the needle and spit it across the boat at me. Then he lunged forward.
I grabbed the cinder block with both hands and swung upward, like I was swinging a kettlebell at the gym.
The block made contact with his chin. He reeled backwards and howled with anger or pain… I wasn’t sure which.
I moved forward into his space and swung again, but he rolled out of my reach. The weight of the block sent me off balance and I staggered, then moved sideways, trying to regain my stance.
He charged, and I swung blindly. The cinder block made contact again. His shoulder this time.
He grunted, and the needle went flying. I heard it clatter across the floor.
I lifted the block again, determined to take him out, to end this in the only way I knew how at the moment.
But Terrace grabbed my arm. I yanked backwards, trying to get away and we both stumbled. I twisted and tried to swing again.
His other hand came up, and he grabbed the cinder block, trying to jerk it away from me. We yanked it back and forth, almost like children fighting over the same toy.
With both of our hands locked on the block, I met his gaze, staring into eyes that were ugly and crazed. A chill swept over me. And a new strength flowed into me.
I sucked in a breath and kicked forward with all the anger and fear and every other emotion that I usually tried to keep tamped down and under wraps.
My toe collided with his balls.
His eyes widened, and his mouth opened to let out an umph laced with pain. His fingers loosened their hold on the block, and he bent forward at the waist. I swung the block down and up. Smacking it into his forehead.
He fell backward, and I lifted the cinder block overhead, ready to smash down again, but his foot wedged between mine and I fell. The cinder block fell too, smashing into the bottom of the boat.
Something cracked and Terrace moaned. He was hit. I hoped his foot was broken, but didn’t bother to stop and check.
I ran around him to the captain’s area where the controls were. The boat’s motor was off. I turned it back on and pushed the throttle to full speed. I was taking us back to shore.
An arm snaked around my neck and I was jerked back against Terrace’s chest.
He murmured against my ear. “It’s lovely weather and the day isn’t done yet. It would be a shame to cut it short, don’t you think?”
Terrace reached around me to try to turn off the motor but I elbowed him in the gut.
He grunted and moved back.
I elbowed him again and reached up behind me to grab his hair. Then I pulled until a hunk pulled free from his scalp.
He shrieked and shoved me away.
I fell to the ground, yards away from the steering area where I had started. He laughed, a grim ugly sound that told me he wasn’t really amused and turned to switch the motor off.
His hand was still a foot from the switch and the motor made a grinding noise.
“Shit,” he said, lunging to grab the steering wheel. “You ran over a rock, probably broke the prop.”
The boat stopped short and hard. Jerked.
“It’s dead,” he muttered, then cursed and turned to look at me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Stuck in a broken boat with a man intent on killing me. My day couldn’t get much worse.
My instinct was to dive over, but I wasn’t sure how far we were from land and didn’t even know in which direction shore would be closer. Plus, the water was cold and hypothermia could always be an issue.
It still wasn’t dark. Once it was, maybe I’d be able to see some lights, but now nothing distinguished any area from another.
Plus, I was a decent swimmer, but I wasn’t an Olympic-level swimmer. My odds seemed better here. Fighting.
Terrace hobbled over to me and reached down, jerking me up by my hair. I brought my knee up, going for his balls again, but hitting him in his stomach instead. Then I shoved him with both hands onto his back and scrambled over him to where the cinder block still lay. My fingers brushed it, but not for long.
Two large hands wrapped around my legs and I was yanked backward, away from my goal.
Shit, dude. Just… I balled my hand into a fist and swung out, connecting with his jaw. Something in my hand cracked, but he grunted. A small reward for my efforts immediately repaid with a punch in the stomach.
It was all or nothing now. I dug my fingernails into his face and held on.
His hands went around my neck and he squeezed. I gasped. God damn everything.
I let go of his face and flung my arms back like I was giving up.
For a split-second, he relaxed.
It was enough. My fingers grasped the cinder block. I rolled, got it in both hands and rolled back.
Then with every bit of energy I could muster, I swung it again, and crashed it into his temple.
He was down, and I hoped, out.
He didn’t move and for a few seconds I didn’t either. I lie there, sucking air into my lungs and staring blindly into the dark.
Then I heard him move. My heart pounded. I felt him reach for something and stand. I knew he had that damned cinder block again. I could see that he had it in his arms and that he was tangled in the rope that was attached. I knew he was going to smash it down towards me, try to smash my brains out most likely.
My foot brushed up against something.
The needle. I scooped it up, stabbed it forward and when I felt it sink into flesh, depressed the plunger.
“Let it go,” I muttered, stepping back. He hadn’t even screamed. I’d hit him pretty good with the cinder block.
I was preparing to dodge him again, to roll to the side and maybe find some deeply hidden pocket of energy to fight some more.
“Freaking let it go,” I added again.
Maybe he heard me or maybe he just lost his balance as the drugs kicked in.
He fell backwards. I heard the splash as he hit and saw the rope go over the side with him.
I jumped up and looked into the water, but I couldn’t see anything.
It was fully dark now. There was no way to save him.
No point in trying.
So I didn’t.
Chapter Thirty
I leaned over the side of the boat, sucking in breaths.
The motor was dead, and water was leaking into the boat from somewhere.
I felt around and found a flashlight under the steering area. I flipped it on and searched some more. Finally, I found what I was looking for… a radio.
Hopefully, the damn thing still worked.
“Hello? Mayday. Mayday,” I said. “This is Ellen Rockne, Chief of Good Isle Police. I’m radioing from a boat in the middle of the lake. Can anyone read me?”
There was no response.
“Mayday. Is anyone out there? This is Ellen Rockne, Good Isle Chief of Police. I’m radioing for help from the middle of Lake Michigan. Can anyone read me? Hello?”
There was silence for a moment. Then I heard…
“Hello? Hello?”
I rested my head on the dash. My voice was rough when I responded. “Hello! This is Ellen Rockne, Police Chief of Good Isle. I was taken captive but am free and okay. The boat, however, isn’t. The motor’s down and the boat’s taking on water. I need help.”
“What are your coordinates?” the person replied.
“I can’t read the charts.”
Water crept up over my feet.
“I’m pinging your radio to see where you are. I think we’ve got a good idea of your location. We’re going to send boats out to get you. Just hang on.”
More water, climbing higher. Then the boat began to tilt. “I’m good,” I replied. “But the boat’s going down.”
The radio let out a burst of stat
ic again, and I didn’t hear any response.
Chapter Thirty-One
I dropped the radio and swept the beam of the flashlight around. I could hear and feel water rushing in, past my shoes and ankles now, approaching my knees. I pointed the beam upward, like some kind of bat signal, hoping it could last, that my rescuers would see it and find me before the water took boat, light, and me all down.
Minutes passed. The water rose higher, to my waist. It was freezing. My teeth chattered and my hand, raised straight over my head, still holding the flashlight, shook. Then the boat tilted again in a sudden lurching movement. I dropped the flashlight and fell to my side, submerged in the icy water for one long moment before finding my footing and struggling back to a stand of sorts.
The boat was almost sideways and I was hanging onto the steering wheel now, using it to keep myself upright.
The boat, I realized, wasn’t going to make it much longer. Soon it would be completely gone. Lost under the water of Lake Michigan.
When the boat moved again, I let go of the steering wheel and kicked out, moving my body away from the boat and out into the water where I hoped I wouldn’t get caught in some debris and dragged down with Terrace’s sinking ship.
In the distance I realized I could see the shore now. It was marked by a haphazard row of tiny lights. So far away. But there and something to aim for.
I couldn’t just float as I had thought though. The water was too cold. Hypothermia would get me for sure.
I took a deep breath and started swimming. Slowly.
Everything hurt. My body was bruised from the fight and now my muscles were cramping from the cold. I slammed one hand into the water and pulled back, tugging myself forward slow stroke by slow stroke.
It was hard, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep going. I had to keep my body going.
My lungs burned, and my legs ached. I could feel them cramping or trying to from the cold.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.
I kept swimming, trying to ignore the way my muscles burned. Everything that wasn’t numb hurt. I wanted to rest but I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to start swimming again.
My body wanted to trick me into stopping and floating just for a little bit, trying to tell me that it would be better for me, but I knew it was just a lie. If I stopped, my muscles would cramp up for good in the cold and I’d never get them moving again. I had to just keep them warm through movement and push on or I would sink like the cinder block that Terrace had picked out for me.
Were the lights really growing closer, or was that just my imagination? Was my mind tricking me into thinking I had far less to go than I actually did?
I couldn’t think about that, I told myself.
Everything was so cold. It already felt like I’d been swimming for ages. It could have been half an hour. It could have been ten minutes. Time was no longer something concrete.
It felt like my body wasn’t properly a part of me anymore.
I raised my right arm up over my head and cut it through the water. Breathe, even though every breath felt like it wasn’t enough and like I was burning through all my oxygen the second I took it in.
Then I saw it.
The light.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For a moment I thought that I was hallucinating. The shore was still miles away. It had to be. But the light… I blinked. It was real and it was here. Moving over the water. Moving away from me. There was sound too, of a motor, a boat.
I bobbed up and down in the water and screamed, waving my hands over my head even though my muscles screamed at the effort.
Treading water, I shouted. “Here!” My voice sounded creaky and hoarse. “Over here!”
The light passed over the water again.
“We got her!” I heard somebody yell, a voice I didn’t recognize, and the light moved again, settling on me, blinding me. I blinked, but kept treading water, kept bobbing up and down with my arms waving.
“We’ve got you, ma’am!” someone else shouted.
There was a splash, and a floating lifebuoy landed in the water next to me. I grabbed at it. My fingers felt stiff and I had a hard time curling my fingers around the lifebuoy, but I managed to get a hold, then looped my arm through its circle and hung on for dear life.
“We’re going to reel you in!” someone yelled.
My body felt heavy. My head sagged side to side and I had to wonder how I’d been able to keep myself afloat for so long.
There was a tug, and then another, jerky but pulling me up to the side of a boat. Hands reached down and grabbed me. Hands dug into my armpit and I was pulled up and over the side, then deposited like a net of dead fish on the deck.
Lying there, wondering how I was alive, if I even truly was at times, I started trembling, my teeth chattering and my legs and arms cramping. It was hard to breathe and I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t do anything but lie there and shake.
“Here,” someone else said, and blankets appeared around me. An arm was around my shoulders and a hand rubbed against me, warming me. I leaned into this unknown body, grateful for the warmth and knowledge that I wasn’t alone.
“We’re heading to shore,” someone said into a radio.
I recognized this voice. It was Richie Tobin speaking into a handheld.
He caught me watching him and winked. “You got some people worried about you, Chief.”
The person rubbing me responded, “She’s fine.” And I realized it was a woman. She introduced herself as Richie’s wife, Amanda Tobin. She pulled the blankets closer around me and yelled for someone to bring me something warm to drink.
Coming out of the fog that the cold water and my battle with Terrace had settled over me, I felt the urge to protest, to say that I could take care of myself, but my lips wouldn’t form the words and my body seemed incapable of moving away from Amanda’s nurturing warmth.
I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to move again. Not on my own.
But eventually, with Amanda rubbing me dry, my body began to become my own again, the pins and needles of thawed nerves reassuring me that I was alive and was for now going to stay that way.
Richie walked across the deck and sat next to me, handing me a cup of something steaming.
I took a sip.
He waited for me to take another drink and then said, “That was real impressive. It took us a while to find you. You lasted a long time in that water.” His face turned grim and he glanced back at the water. “Where’s the guy who took you?”
My face must have shown my confusion, because Amanda explained, “When the police rallied us to go look for you, they told us you were probably with Jake Terrace, and that he had kidnapped you.”
I nodded, swallowing a few times to get my still dry throat to work. “He died,” I said. “He tried—I fought back. I’m not sure what happened. He was there and then— he was over the side.”
Tobin cut me off. “No need for details. He’s gone. Good riddance, I’d say. That’s enough.”
Amanda nodded vigorously, agreeing.
I wasn’t sure everyone would. Terrace’s family didn’t know who or what he’d really been and even though I’d been kidnapped, there would be questions to be answered. But Tobin was right. There was no need to go into detail now. I snuggled into Amanda’s blanket and took another sip of what I decided was tea. Black and strong and warming me from the inside out.
After what felt like only minutes, we reached the dock.
Donovan was there with am ambulance, directing people to stand back or move forward or… I wasn’t sure what all he was doing besides looking important or trying to. But he was there, and I was damn happy to see him.
There were other officers there as well, along with a pretty big crowd of people, probably families of the fishermen and sailors who had gone out looking for me and who’d then told their neighbors and friends.
It felt like the entire town of Good Isle had assembled on the dock and nearby shore
.
Peyton was standing at the edge of the dock, her face lined with worry. When she saw me her eyes lit up. “There she is.” She yelled, “They got her! She’s okay!”
Amanda took my empty cup but told me to keep the blanket. She and Richie helped me off the boat and down to the dock. Peyton immediately wrapped me up in a massive hug that felt like it was crushing my ribs. “You disappeared,” she said, her voice cracking. “We found your car on the north shore. We thought you’d followed a lead there, but no one had seen you.”
My eyes kept sliding closed. All I wanted to do was get somewhere extremely warm and sleep.
“All right, all right, give her some room to breathe,” said another, much more familiar voice.
Dawkins relieved Peyton of hugging duty and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. My head sank onto his shoulder automatically. I could hear his heart beating in his chest, slow and steady, reassuring.
Maybe I could just go to sleep right here?
Richie was talking to Donovan. “Terrace had her,” he said.
Donovan looked back at the boat. “And Terrace?”
“Not here,” Richie responded.
All eyes turned toward me, expectant.
“He’s in the lake. With his boat,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I took the next day off.
It wasn’t my preference. I wanted to get right back onto the horse. But Dawkins turned off my alarm while I was asleep and by the time I woke up, it was noon. The sun was shining, and birds were singing. It was hard to imagine that what I’d been through the night before had really happened, that it was real. But it had and it was.
“The station can survive without you for one day,” he told me. “Besides, someone might have called them and told them you were taking a personal day.”
“You’re such an ass,” I replied, but I was laughing at him, so he just smiled in return.
It was a good day, a relaxing day. I sat in the living room and flipped through TV channels. The living room was the first room that I’d renovated when I’d gotten the house. The fireplace was gorgeous, all original carved wood and a marble mantle and the couches were deep and comfy.
