Chapter Twenty-Five
I pull into the lot of the marina and find it all but deserted. If I don't do something now, find some way to get away from him, I'm going to be in real trouble. If James gets me on that boat and gets us to the Canadian side of the water, nobody is going to be able to help me. I'm going to be completely on my own with a madman holding a gun.
Which means, I'm pretty much as good as dead.
“I know what you're thinking, Abby,” he says as he gets out of the car. “And all I can say is please don't do it. Don't run. I don't want to hurt you. I love you, Abby.”
I shake my head. “You don't love me, James,” I say. “If you did, you wouldn't be doing this.”
“It's because I love you that I'm doing this,” he says. “Don't you see? We were happy together. We were content –”
“You're wrong,” I say. “I was never content. I fooled myself into believing that I was – but that was early on. The truth of the matter though, is that I stayed with you as long as I did because I was afraid of being alone.”
He looks at me a long moment, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. But then his face smooths out and an eerie calm descends over him again.
“We both know that's not true, Abby,” he says. “Now, come one. We need to get to the boat.”
When I hesitate, James comes around to the driver's side of the car and grabs me by the arm. His fingers dig into me and I cry out in pain as he squeezes hard. He practically drags me down to the docks where his boat is moored and I'm frantically searching for somebody to help me. I spot a few couples sitting on the deck of their boats, some drinking wine, some barbecuing. James pulls me close and puts the barrel of the gun against my ribs.
“Don't make me do something terrible, Abby,” he says. “Please don't make me.”
I've been on his boat with him a number of times and the people at the marina are used to seeing me. Which is why they wave and shout their greetings as we pass on by. They obviously can't see the terrified look on my face or the fact that James is holding a gun on me. To them, we apparently look like a couple in love, taking a stroll down the dock to their boat.
I climb onboard James' boat and he starts untying the lines holding us to the dock.
“Start the engines, Abby,” he says as he tosses me the key.
I look at the key in my hand and wonder if I can get the boat started and get away from the dock before James gets back on board. He's smiling at me as if intuiting my thoughts and I know it's a plan that isn't going to work.
“Start the engines,” he says again, his voice a little lower, a little colder.
I climb the ladder to the bridge and do as he says. He's shown me how to pilot his boat before, so it's a simple matter. When the engines are running, James casts off the bowline and climbs aboard, quickly scaling the ladder and taking the seat next to me.
I look out across the water, a plan starting to come together in my mind. The Strait of San Juan de Fuca, the body of water that separates Washington from Canada is only about ten or eleven miles wide at the point we'll be crossing. I'm a strong swimmer and think that if I can get overboard, I can probably get back to shore fairly easily.
James guns the engines and we quickly maneuver out of the marina and onto the open water. The sun is slipping toward the horizon and the air is cool. Ordinarily, a sunset cruise like this would have been a nice way to end a long day. But having somebody kidnapping you, threatening to kill you, kind of takes the shine off of things.
I watch the water around us. There's a breeze up and it's a little choppy, but I know I can make the swim. My biggest obstacle would be avoiding James in his boat. Once I go overboard, I know he's going to turn and search for me. But maybe that's where the choppiness of the water can help – I won't be so easily seen among the small whitecaps.
It's a plan that can work. I just need to pick the spot and wait for my moment.
“Abby,” James calls over the roar of his engines. “I want you to know that if you throw yourself overboard, if I can't find you, then I'm going to go pay a visit to Brooke. You won't like what happens after that. And Brooke most definitely won't like it.”
My heart sinks into my stomach and a feeling of despair washes over me. I'm trapped. Completely fucking trapped. How in the hell did I end up with such a psychopath? How could I not have seen the signs? Or had I simply ignored them? I've been so busy settling and believing I deserved no more, that maybe he had exhibited all the usual worrisome signs and I just – missed them.
The trip across the Strait takes a little less than an hour. Once we tie off at the dock, James guides me over to the car he keeps in the marina on this side. The place is deserted and there's nobody around to help me.
James drags me to the car and roughly tosses me into the passenger seat, hurrying around to climb behind the wheel. Without speaking, he starts the car and drives off into the rapidly approaching night.
~ooo000ooo~
The road winds through a dense forest and by the time we arrive at James' cabin, full dark has fallen. I get out of the car and look around. There's a chill in the air and the sound of wildlife all around us. I've never been to his cabin before – didn't even know he had a cabin, to be honest. And almost immediately, snippets of ten thousand horror movies I've seen flash through my mind.
“It's not what you think,” James says.
I look over at him. “What do you mean?”
“This isn't like where I bring women to kill them or something,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I'm not like a serial killer or anything.”
I look at the large, dark, looming cabin and a shudder passes through me. “If you say so.”
“I do say so, Abby,” he says. “If you have to know –”
“I don't,” I say, holding up my hand. “I really don't.”
“This cabin belonged to my father,” he says, ignoring me. “It's where I come to get some peace. When I want to be alone to think or just hide out from the world. This is the one place where everything is orderly and is exactly how I expect it to be. It's my place of solace.”
“Great,” I say. “And now it's your place of holding women against their will.”
He sighs and waves the gun again. “Let's go,” he says. “It's getting cold out here.”
I walk to the cabin and up the steps to the porch, James' gun on me the whole time.
“If you're afraid I'm going to run off,” I say. “Don't be. I have no idea where in the hell I am and if I run off into the woods, I'm likely going to die out there.”
He shrugs and opens the front door, ushering me inside. “I don't want to take any chances,” he says. “Because I'm serious about the work we're going to do here.”
“Work?”
He flips on the lights, revealing a modestly furnished cabin. It's a little bit rustic, but with enough soft touches to make it feel a bit homey. With the number of animal heads mounted on the walls, it was obviously a hunting cabin at one point in time. I knew James wasn't a hunter at all, so the soft, homey touches were obviously, his additions to the place.
It was odd, but I can see why he'd come here. It's quiet. It's peaceful. You can sit and hear yourself think. I can definitely see the appeal in having a hideaway like this. I'm just not too keen on being held prisoner in one.
“Yes, the work,” he says. “We're going to work on our relationship. You're a therapist, use your skills to fix this thing between us.”
“James, there's nothing to fix,” I say. “There's nothing between us anymore. Our relationship ran its course. I'm sorry if that hurts you, but it's the reality of the situation. It's better for both of us if we just move on.”
He shakes his head. “I don't accept that,” he snaps. “And I'm not moving on. Neither one of us are leaving this cabin until we're happy again. Do you hear me, Abby? We are staying here until we're happy and whole again.”
“James, there's nothing –”
He slams his fist on the table, knocking over the candlesticks that sat upon it in his fury. They roll the floor and fall with a clatter. The sudden noise made me jump and sent a fresh dagger of fear through my heart. He was unraveling and if I kept poking him, it very well might be the end of me. I had to play along for now.
I took a seat at the table in the dining area, trying to defuse the situation. “Okay, James,” I say. “Let's talk.”
As he looks at me, I realize that he never bothered to take my phone away from me. It surprises me, but then I realize that he's not a criminal mastermind or anything like that. He's a guy with issues. Plain and simple.
All I need to do is wait for an opportunity to make a call or send a text – something to let somebody know where I was, that I was in trouble, and needed help. All I had to do was play along, be patient, and I'd get my chance sooner or later.
That and pray that I'd turned the ringer on my phone off earlier.