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Can I go back to the dig? Will he not just come and get me again?
I decide to think about all of that later. For now, what I need to do is get out of here. I’m not hanging around for a man who says he’s coming to get me tonight, that I should expect no mercy. I know what that means. He’s married to me. He thinks he can just come and ravage my body anytime he wants.
That is not happening. I am not letting him get close to me. I know what will happen if I do. That drawer of my obsession that I’ve kept tightly closed all these years will come bursting open. I can’t let that happen. I can’t get attached to a monster. He will only destroy me. There is no emotion to him, no warmth.
I get the feeling he’s long dead inside.
I kept hoping that he might open up to me before the wedding ceremony. Or after, that he might try to do this normally, try to be a proper couple. All he did was threaten me and then leave.
That pain I keep seeing behind his eyes is the only thing keeping me intrigued. I want to know what will happen if he can deal with it. Can a man come back from the darkness?
Are his threats just a way of trying to keep me at arm’s length? Afraid of what I might do to him if I get close? Or what he might do to me?
What happens if he catches me escaping?
Bigger problem. What if I drown this time?
I refuse to think about that as I untie the ropes. It’s just a short hop to the mainland. I did it dozens of times as a kid. Nothing is going to happen this time. I’ll be fine. Even as my heart pounds and visions of me freezing in the water fill my head, I tell myself I will be fine.
I refuse to consider the possibility. I’m not going to get caught. I’m going to get back to the mainland and work out a plan. Divorce. Annulment. Whatever it takes to end this madness before it beds itself in.
I can’t stay on the island. Already, I’m getting used to it. How insane is that? I don’t belong here. I might have liked coming on vacations as a kid but that was years ago. I’m an adult now. I have a career, one that I don’t intend to ruin by becoming a hermit like Leo.
I like my life. I like my independence. I don’t want to be some chattel for a mafia Don with a penchant for physical discipline.
As I set off, Barb comes running down to the water’s edge and starts barking at me. “Go back to the house,” I shout to her. “I’ve got to go.”
She sits down, staring at me for a moment, and then slinks back up the path, tail down.
The water is choppy and the tide is against me. It’s slow progress, taking over an hour before the island is out of sight behind me. I keep moving until I hear something over the waves. When I look up, my heart sinks.
It’s a helicopter. Is there some kind of tracking device on the boat? Is he coming for me? Did he know all along I was going to do this?
The helicopter approaches fast. I keep moving forward, praying the mainland will come into view.
I look up. The helicopter is already directly above me. It’s black as jet and fighting to remain in place against the growing wind.
The door opens and a winch ratchets down toward me. At the end of it is a figure in black. At once, I know that’s not Leo. But if it isn’t him, who the hell is it?
The winch gets closer and the figure on the end lifts his face. It’s a man but not one I recognize.
He’s younger than Leo. Got a friendly face. Refreshing after so long with Mr. Angry. He reaches out a hand toward me. “Come with me,” he says. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Who are you?” I shout above the noise of the engine.
“Your father sent me to rescue you. Come on, before it’s too late.”
He glances past me and I look where he’s looking. There’s another boat coming toward me. It’s coming fast.
“Come on,” the man shouts, stretching his arm out my way. “Before he gets here.”
I look at the oncoming boat. It’s Leo. He’s got something in his hand. What is that?
The man grabs my wrist, yelling something I can’t make out. The winch starts to rise upward and my feet are lifted off the deck.
At the same time, I’m spun around in a circle. I can see Leo, his face set and icy cold. It’s a gun in his hand. He narrows his eyes and time seems to slow down as he pulls the trigger. I expect the bullet to hit me but it flies straight into the arm of the man holding me. I’m dropped back to the deck of my boat, landing with a thump and smacking my head into the damp wood.
Another shot fires and the man dangles loose in the winch, arms slack, looking like a scarecrow. He spins slowly around, mouth open, eyes blank. Is he dead?
