Outside Ascension

by Amy Proebstel

  When Neal pulled into the driveway, Amanda hugged her parents, picked up a couple of her duffel bags, and headed toward Neal’s car. Neal quickly got out and rushed around the car to help her with the luggage. With a smile on his face, he quickly kissed her on the cheek and took the duffel bags from her hands. He loaded them into the back of his car and then went up to the house to get the rest of Amanda’s things. When he got to the door, he shook hands with Amanda’s father, Chris, and then he gave Amanda’s mother, Diane, a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He felt a particular closeness to Diane as she was a slightly older looking version of Amanda with a similar personality to his own mother’s easy going temperament. He bent down and retrieved the last of the bags. When he stood up, he told Chris and Diane, “I promise to take really good care of her.”

  “We know you will, Neal,” Chris said. “Thanks for giving us your itinerary. It’s nice to know where your child is, even if it’s in the middle of the ocean.”

  “Don’t say it like that, Chris,” admonished Diane, “it scares me to think of her out there protected only by a small floating boat.”

  Neal decided it might be wise if he just turned around and put the bags in the car. He opened the door for Amanda and then he walked around to the driver’s side and settled in behind the steering wheel. He could hear Chris and Diane still talking about the trip and determined he should start the engine and go before they changed their minds about letting Amanda go with him.

  “Oh, Diane, I wouldn’t consider a sixty-foot yacht as small. Besides, Neal has been sailing for years, and he knows what to do if anything should happen--which it won’t,” he added quickly when he saw Diane start to frown with concern. He nudged her arm as he said, “Smile, honey, you don’t want your youngest daughter to see you frowning as she’s beginning her first big adventure, do you?”

  “I guess not,” she replied as she forced a smile over her concern and waved goodbye from the porch.

  Neal took it as his cue to leave. Both he and Amanda waved to her parents as Neal backed out of the driveway and began their adventure.

  Days passed by in a flash...it was dark...the boat was pitching fearfully, and the screeching of the wind was deafening. Neal got out of the bed and told her to stay below. She watched him grab pants and quickly plunge his naked limbs into them. He wrenched open the door, paused, looked back at her and said, “I’ll be right back, Amanda. I love you.”

  Lightning flashed as Neal shut the door behind him. Amanda, not wanting to be left alone, quickly sat up and threw her naked legs over the edge of the bed. Another flash of lightning…the boat rocked violently.

  She blinked her eyes open in the dimly lit cabin and discovered with relief she was alone. Running a mental assessment of her physical condition, she realized her head was tender, but not painfully so, and the rest of her ached dully but was bearable for now. She looked around warily to see what she was up against.

  She remembered everything now. She and Neal were just engaged and sailing to celebrate. Their yacht was named The Golden Jesisca, which was why Jesisca had sounded so familiar. Petre must have counted on her remembering enough to believe his lie. She looked down at her left hand, saw the diamond ring, and almost cried with relief. It was real. Her panic reached new heights when she realized the storm had been real as well, and she had no idea what had happened to Neal. She needed a plan to first get away from Petre and then to find Neal.

  Chapter Three

  ELDER DEBBON made a mental note to find out about her friend, Neal. He wondered if the man might have ended up with another Elder somewhere. It would not do to have these two people separated, his sense of rightness felt deeply. Amanda was turning out to be quite resourceful, and Elder Debbon was interested in seeing what this girl would do next. With fingertips touching her temple he allowed the story to continue…

  When she woke, at last, Petre told Amanda she had been asleep for six days. She felt it in the aching of her bones and muscles. Petre offered her some eggs, toast, and juice, which she gratefully accepted. She painfully sat up and arranged the blankets over her naked body. After a quick prayer, she ate slowly and savored the flavors on her tongue. It seemed like years since she had last eaten.

  Petre watched her eat. His eyes took note of the blankets covering her. He asked, “Are you feeling better today?”

  “Yes,” she replied around a bite of eggs.

  After finishing all the food given to her, she looked around nervously. She cleared her throat and asked quietly, “Where is the bathroom?”

  Petre smiled and answered, “It’s through this door,” as he gestured to a wood panel across from her.

  She started to gather herself together to stand up. She was so weak; she stumbled, and her blanket came loose, exposing one of her breasts. Petre quickly reached forward and pulled up the blanket. His fingers brushed over her breast as he tucked in the fabric to secure it. Amanda blushed furiously. Petre seemed not to notice as he casually commented, “We don’t want you to catch a chill. Let me help you use the bathroom.”

  Amanda tried to figure out a way to stop him, but she had to admit she needed help getting into the room. They shuffled across the floor, and they both squeezed into the small room. She leaned against the wall and put her hand on his arm. “I think I can manage from here. May I please have some privacy?”

  Petre seemed disappointed and on the verge of anger. “I am more than capable of helping my wife even in the most private matters; it’s not like I haven’t seen everything already!”

  Amanda panicked for a moment about how to reply. Inspiration struck, “It’s not that, Petre, it’s just this room is so small, and I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic. I just need a little space right now. Please?” She was not above begging if it meant he would leave her alone for a few minutes.

  Petre seemed slightly mollified. He mumbled, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He turned and left, but did not shut the door.

  Amanda sighed and shut the door herself. She leaned against the door for support and let the blanket fall to the floor. She used the toilet to relieve herself and winced as she wiped. For the first time she looked down at herself; both of her breasts were covered in black, blue, purple, and yellow bruises. Her wrists were covered with them as well. She started to feel sick as she continued to look over her body. The insides of her thighs looked worse than anything. Even in her confused state, she knew this was not normal bruising to accompany the fall which had injured her head. Realization hit her, and she promptly threw up her breakfast into the sink next to her.

  She continued to dry heave into the sink until Petre opened the door. He brought her a glass of water, “Sip this,” he said, “it will ease your stomach.”

  His hands were touching her bare flesh, making her want to heave even more. She did not have anything to cover her nakedness. She drank the offered beverage and allowed him to lead her back to the sleeping platform. She had taken the only blanket with her, and there was nothing else with which to cover her. To conceal her nakedness, she pulled her legs up and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I think we should get you dressed so you won’t be so cold,” Petre announced and turned to open another closet. He rummaged through a pile of clothes and pulled out an unlikely pairing of a silky shirt and an old, worn pair of sweatpants. He held them out to her and asked, “Would you like me to help you put these on?”

  “No!” she replied a bit too quickly as she snatched the clothes out of his hand. “Thank you, I can manage,” she added to take the sharpness from her tone. As Petre did not turn away, she decided to dress as quickly as she could just to end her embarrassment. She was aware of his eyes on her as she put each leg into the sweatpants. She looked him straight in the face as she put her arms into the silky shirt and then lifted it over her head. She gasped in shock as her head came through the shirt and her face was inches from Petre’s as he had stepped forward to “help” the shirt down over her breasts.

  “This colo
r looks good on you,” he said softly as his head started to tip toward her neck.

  With nowhere else to go, she sat down hard on the sleeping platform to escape his advance.

  Petre did not seem fazed by her reaction and sat down next to her with his arm around her shoulders. His hand stroked her arm as he asked, “Do you want to try to eat something else?”

  “No, I don’t think it would stay down,” she replied as new convulsions came on while he touched her arm.

  He felt her shiver and asked, “Are you still cold?”

  “A little,” she replied.

  “Let me get you another blanket.” He rummaged for another blanket from the drawer below the sleeping platform and handed it to her. “Do you feel like lying down or drinking some foxl broth?”

  “No, I think I need some fresh air,” she replied. Swallowing her revulsion at his touch, but also knowing she would require assistance if she were to make it up the stairs and outside she asked, “Could you help me out onto the deck?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied as he manhandled her into a standing position and escorted her out into the bright sunlight on the deck.

  She wrapped herself up in the blanket and sat on the deck to look out over the ocean. There was an odd shimmering around the boat. Amanda wondered what caused it, but she was too anxious to see any land beyond it on the horizon. If she could see some islands, other land masses, or better yet, another vessel, she might be able to escape somehow.

  A couple of times boats did pass within about thirty feet of theirs, but nobody even seemed to acknowledge Petre’s boat. These people don’t seem to be very friendly with one another, she thought to herself. A few minutes after the last vessel had passed; Petre sat down next to her and put his arm familiarly around her waist. He seems anxious about something, she thought as she looked at his face and fought her loathing to his touching her.

  “You and I have always liked how peaceful it is out here,” Petre commented as he looked out over the ocean. “We can go for mesans without seeing any other water crafts or people.”

  “What do you mean? Other people sail out here too, don’t they?” Amanda was getting confused.

  “Oh no, these waters are dangerous, not to mention nowhere near any land. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the storm pushing me off course. It’ll take us weeks to get back to regularly sailed seas,” Petre replied.

  Amanda noted his mixture of singular and plural when he spoke of sailing. He really isn’t very bright, she thought. Just then Amanda could see another boat cruising by them. She wanted to ask Petre about it, but he was looking at her anxiously again. Instead, she asked Petre, “Is there any danger of pirates out here then?”

  Petre gave her a puzzled look and said, “What’re pirates?”

  With another stab of fear concerning where she really was, Amanda realized they must be called something else here. As she explained, his face lit up with understanding.

  “A deckhopper!” he exclaimed.

  Amanda agreed while she thought the term was adequate but strange.

  “You don’t have to worry about them. I’ve taken care of them before easily!” he bragged. “This is what I do,” he explained as he jumped up and grabbed the fish club off the deck. He held it up like a man up to bat at a baseball game. He made a grand swing at a sheet of metal attached to the mast. The club hit the edge of the metal and rebounded right back into Petre’s nose. The club clattered to the deck as Petre dropped to his knees and used both hands to cup his profusely bleeding nose.

  Amanda burst out laughing at the comedy of the whole scene, but then quickly looked abashed when she saw the bitter hurt in Petre’s watering blue eyes. She grabbed her blanket and created a compress for Petre’s nose and tilted his head back. She was relieved to see it was not broken when the bleeding finally subsided. “I’m feeling kind of cold out here; I think I’ll go back inside for a while,” she said as she gathered herself up from the deck and made a hasty retreat before she started laughing in his face again.

  Three weeks had passed since Amanda had started counting the days. Her head was almost healed even though she had lost quite a bit of hair around the gash when Petre yanked the crusted towel off one rainy afternoon. Petre touched her constantly, but he never made any sexual advances on her or pressured her at all in that way. Her bruises faded, and then disappeared altogether; she wondered if she had jumped to the wrong conclusions about Petre.

  Petre told her stories of their adventures together on the ocean. She smiled and nodded, but she knew the tales were all lies. From the way he spoke about sailing, it sounded as though he did not have any intention of making landfall anytime soon.

  Petre constantly inquired about her health. Amanda quickly discovered a correlation between her improved health to his increased touching of her. Her progress quickly declined. Luckily, Amanda did not have to fake being nauseous; she threw up every morning and sometimes in the afternoon as well.

  “The bump on your head must have messed up your equilibrium,” Petre suggested. “You’ve always had an iron stomach while we’ve sailed. You should get better soon, don’t worry.”

  Amanda was not sure how long she could stay in “recovery.” She pondered different plans for escaping from Petre; one thing was certain, she needed to be completely healed before she made any attempts.

  Amanda wondered about the odd things which had happened since she had started helping out around the boat. First, she had counted twenty-six vessels which had passed them in these deserted waters and noted none of them even seemed to see Petre’s boat. She began to suspect the odd shimmer surrounding the boat was some sort of invisibility shield, as strange as the idea seemed.

  Second, Petre always seemed to have food ready and available to eat. The idea which concerned her was she never actually saw him prepare anything, and there were never any dishes to clean. She even had vague impressions from when she was really disoriented about the food just seeming to magically appear from nowhere. Since she spent all her free time on the deck, she never witnessed him creating their meals. Amanda determined she would find out what was going on before she made her move to escape.

  Third, Petre never seemed to have to steer the boat; when he was in the control room, he never seemed to pay much attention. Amanda had watched him intently, noticing his lips were constantly moving as he mumbled something over and over like he was trying to talk around non-existent food. Amanda was reminded immediately of her childhood pet and secretly nicknamed him gerbil. Every time Amanda thought of the association, it made her smile. More than once, Petre caught her smiling at him and Amanda wondered if he thought the smile were meant for him. No doubt he does, she grimaced to herself, and he’s certainly conceited enough.

  Amanda took up her usual place at the front of the boat on the port side of the deck. She trailed one hand over the edge to caress the water if a swell brought it up high enough to touch her. She enjoyed listening to the birds and the wind and the water as it sloshed against the sideboards. She remembered Neal telling her when birds were around you were either close to land or fishing boats. Either scenario worked fine for her.

  With her back nestled into the edge of the round metal railing and her hair blowing freely behind her in the breeze, she searched the horizon for any signs of land. She pretended to sleep whenever Petre was around; but when he was occupied elsewhere, she watched the other ships in the ocean around them. She started to notice a pattern in their passing. Every third day a large vessel would pass slowly by; first heading toward them, then away. One thing was certain; there were never any boats after dark, ever!

  She knew Petre had no intention of letting her go; his constant references to her being his wife made it quite clear he expected her to stay with him forever. Amanda was also becoming alarmed at his not-so-subtle references to his “manly needs” not being taken care of while she was sick. So far, she had been successful in thwarting his advances, but she did not know how much longer
it would last.

  Recognizing her window for remaining sick was quickly closing; Amanda decided it was time to take advantage of the large vessel which would be passing by the next day. She did not know if it would be sailing toward land or away from it, but she figured it did not matter since it would be turning around within three days to go the other direction anyway. One part of her escape plan was certain; she was going to have to swim. At least she would be swimming in the daylight. Just the thought of jumping into the black ocean at night gave her the shivers.

  She had already sorted through her jumble of clothing, organizing it into piles of usefulness in her escape. The first pile was sexy see-through garments; those she had disposed of in the dark of night. Best not to have these around, she thought as she tossed them overboard in a giant heap, to give Petre any more ideas! The next pile contained useful undergarments, swimsuits, and socks. She neatly folded them and put them in the drawer Petre had instructed her to use. Another mistake, she thought as she loaded the drawer, if I really were his wife, my things would have been in the drawer already and not in a jumbled heap in the cupboard! The third pile contained clothing with light fabrics for warm weather. The last pile contained the heavier fabrics for colder weather. As she folded each item, she weighed their usefulness against their bulkiness. She would not be able to take much more than what she was wearing when she jumped into the water unless she could find some means to strap them to her without making it too hard to swim. Drowning was not in her plan of escape!

  She had decided on a matching set of undergarments, white ankle-length socks, a pink short-sleeved t-shirt, blue cotton shorts, a gray sweatshirt, and a faded pair of blue jeans as her escape outfit. It would give her a couple of different choices of clothing until she could find means to get others. What troubled her most was her lack of shoes. She only had a pair of blue ballet-type slippers. She knew they would not last very long as walking shoes, but she did not have any other options; so they became the final addition to the “escape ensemble” as she started calling it in her mind.