I’ve been held captive three days now. I scratch lines into the concrete with the cross of my necklace that hangs from a black leather braided band. A few rays of sun glimmer through the small window. As I lay my head back against the wall, I run my hand over the scruff on my face. My beard has gotten thick fairly quickly. I remember a time I didn’t have to shave because of the chemo treatments.

This is all so fucked up. I want to be angry at John for always getting me caught up in his shit, but I can’t be. If it wasn’t for him and Brooklyn, I would have died years ago from the cancer that was eating up my body. I would have never met Zoe and had a baby on the way, but when will this shit ever end? Or will it? If John has figured out by now that it is Knox that’s controlling the cards, he will kill him. John has worked so hard to have a normal life.

I know at one time, killing came easy for him, but now, I think it might destroy him. He’s a good husband and father. He doesn’t want his children tainted by his past, and neither do I.

Pushing off the wall, I look around again for any way to escape. The window is too narrow for me to fit through and so are the bars. Since they captured me for the second time, they’ve come down here in pairs. One of them is always sporting a gun at me.

Leaning on the wall, I run both my hands through my hair and squeeze my eyes tight, trying to think. I know Knox is behind this, but what does he want from Brooklyn? Has she discovered another cure? How would he know? And why wouldn’t he go after her like before? He must be using me for leverage to get what he wants from her and John.

Maybe he’s sick and thinks Brooklyn can cure him of what ails him. Brooklyn will do whatever he wants to save me. I know her. Me trying to find out what he wants won’t do any good. The only thing that will help Brooklyn is me getting free of them. I just have to figure out how to not die in the process.

Gravel crunches underneath tires outside next to the window. I stand on my tiptoes and pull myself up with my fingers using the ledge. Two men wearing all-black clothing get out. One of them is carrying what looks like some sort of hunting rifle. I can only make out muffled voices when the two men that have been guarding me exchange words with them before they get into the SUV.

I let myself slide down the wall. I guess it was a changing of the guards. Maybe these two don’t know they have to come down here two at a time. Glancing at my watch, it’s almost lunchtime. They’ve been bringing me two meals a day. One around eleven in the morning, the other at seven at night. The meals both consist of stale bread with lunch meat. If I ever get out of here, I don’t think I will ever eat a sandwich again. They bring me two bottles of water with each meal. They must not want me to die of thirst. They might not get their money for kidnapping me if I die.

That’s it! I’ll pretend to be sick. They need me alive so they would have to get me some help.

When I hear footsteps near the stairs, I lie facedown on the floor. The hinges on the door creak as it opens. Both men descend down the wooden stairs. I close my eyes as they get closer and moan.

“Ohhh.” I curl into a ball on my side. I repeat the moaning several times.

One of them unlocks the door, and the other walks by him and lays down a tray of food. He has the rifle draped over his shoulder. He nudges me with his boot.

“Eat your food,’ he says.

“My gut feels like it’s on fire,” I moan again.

“You’re faking. Now sit up and eat,” he barks.

I roll over, facing the other way. Arching up, I stick my finger down my throat and start gagging.

“I don’t think he’s faking, man,” the other guard says. “We need to call someone.”

They both step just outside my cell. I roll back over to be able to see them. The bigger of the two men, the one with the rifle, pulls a cell phone out of his shirt pocket.

“He’s sick. What do you want us to do with him?” He pauses and listens. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him. He says his gut feels like it’s on fire and then he started puking.”

I moan loudly. “Aw! It feels like an alien is coming out!” Dramatic I know, but I want to freak them out.

“Can you hear him?” He holds the phone out in my direction, and I moan again.

He places it back next to his ear. “He needs a doctor.” He listens again.

“I didn’t sign up to take care of someone. Do you want me to kill him and put him out of his misery? That I will willingly do.”

Maybe I shouldn’t be such a good actor. I curl back into a ball but stay quiet this time.

“Okay, I know the address,” he finally says and puts his phone back in his pocket.

“What did he say?” the other guard asks him.

“There is a small-town doctor on the next island over. We are going to take him there.” He unlocks the gate, then hauls me up off the floor by the arm.

I hold my stomach as we go up the stairs. The cut on my foot is still tender while walking in my socked feet. It really hurts when it lands on the gravel outside as they shove me into the back seat of the SUV. One man slides in beside me as the other gets behind the wheel.

“What are we going to tell the doctor about him?” The man in the back seat looks nervous.

“We aren’t going to tell him anything. I’ll hold a gun to his head, and he will do as I ask.”

Gravel flies out as he takes off down the drive. He pushes a remote button to open the gate. Leaning my head against the window, I keep one eye open to make note of where we are. About a mile down the road is a long, narrow bridge that leads to another island. One that I recognize. We are still in the Hawaiian Islands. The one we are driving to is two islands over from where I live. There is only one doctor on this island, and I took L.J. to him one time when Brooklyn was sick. I hope to God that he recognizes me. He’s an older gentleman with a small, busy family practice. Most of the neighboring islanders come here to see him.

The familiar blue building comes into view as we clear the bridge. There are several cars in the dirt parking lot when we park. The man in the front gets out and lays his rifle in the seat. “Stay here,” he barks and walks away. I see him place his hand on the handle of his gun that is sticking out of the back of his black jeans.

A few minutes later, he returns to the SUV and opens the back door. “Get out!” He pulls his gun out and waves it at me. “The kind lady at the front desk has agreed to bring him in the back door.”

“How did you manage that?” the other guy asks as he opens my door and helps me out.

“I told her that the patient was too sick to wait in the waiting room and he would throw up all over the floor.” He laughs.

A woman greets us at the back door and puts the three of us in a small room. She tries to get them to wait outside as she helps me sit on the table.

“I have some phone calls to make,” the big guy says and then whispers something to the other man, who sits down in a metal folding chair.

The cute brunette medical assistant hands me a gown. “My name is Sara, Mister…”

“Smith,” the guy in the chair says.

The young girl smiles sweetly at me. “Put this on, Mr. Smith. The doctor will be in shortly to see you.” She turns and closes the door behind her.

“You let me do the talking!” the guard growls. “If you say one thing that gives you away, I will kill that pregnant wife of yours.”

I remain quiet as I remove my shirt and put the gown on. I leave my jeans on but take my dirty, bloody sock off my foot. If I’m going to escape, I’m going to need it taken care of while I’m here.

“What are you doing?” He points to my foot. “We’re here for your stomachache.”

“Well, my foot hurts too. You wouldn’t want it getting infected and me to die from it, would you?”

That seems to appease him. He pats the gun under his jacket. “Don’t make me kill the only doc in town.”

As I sit back on the table, there is a knock on the door, and the doctor walks in. “Hi, Mr. Smith,” he says, glancing down at the chart. “I’m Dr. Tinsley.” His eyebrows draw together as he shakes my hand. “Have you been in here before?”

“No, he’s a tourist. Never been here before,” the man in the chair says.

Dr. Tinsley looks at him and then at me. “I don’t see anything written in this chart other than you have a severe stomachache.” He flips it open.

“Yeah, I think it’s something that I ate.” I glare at the guard. “Actually, the pain has let up some since earlier.”

“Lay back and let me examine you,” the doctor says. I lie back as he washes his hands, dries them, and then dons a pair of gloves. He pulls up my paper gown and presses on my stomach. “Does this hurt?”

“A little.”

“Show me where it was hurting earlier.”

I want to make up something so that he will have to call an ambulance, but I’m afraid if I do, my friend here will start shooting up the place and kill innocent people. “Right here.” I put my hand just below my belly button.

He presses. “Is it still tender?”

“Only a little.” I sit. “But this hurts like a son of a bitch.” I draw my foot up and show him my heel.

“This redness here indicates that it’s infected.” He points to the area around the cut. “What did you cut it on?”

“He stepped on some glass,” the guard answers.

“How long ago?” The guard starts to answer him, but the doctor puts his hand up to stop him. “Mr. Smith is more than capable of answering my questions.

I want to smirk at him. “Three days ago,” I say, instead.

His eyes search mine for a minute. I really think he’s trying to place me, but the scruff on my face isn’t helping. I rub my hand over my beard, hoping to give him a hint that it’s not always there.

“Well, it’s too late for me to stitch it up, but I can clean it then dress it. You will need to take some antibiotics for a week and then come see me again.” He opens a drawer and pulls out some gauze. Then he sticks his head out and calls for Sara to come help him.

I lie back on the table, and she places a white towel under my feet.

“Sir, we are going to need a little room. Would you please go sit in the waiting room?” the doctor asks the guard.

He hesitates but gets up. He points a finger at me. “I’ll be outside the door.”

The doctor waits until the door is closed before he starts working on my foot. His assistant hands him whatever he needs. As he is cleaning it, he asks me a question.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Smith, while you are here?”

I look past him at the door and then back at him. I make a motion with my hand for pen and paper. Sara nods and pulls both out of her pocket.

I scribble down John’s number and write, “Stand by Me. Two islands over, come and find me.”

The doorknob rattles, and I stuff the pen and paper in Sara’s pocket. She steps back toward the sink.

“Are you almost done in here?” The guard sticks his head inside the room.

“Just finishing up,” the doctor says as he rolls the gauze around my foot. “You need to keep this clean. Sara can get you the antibiotics to take with you from the front desk.” He turns to her. “Why don’t you take this gentleman to get them while I finish up in here.”

The guard scowls but follows Sara.

“Go out the back door while he’s up front,” the doctor whispers.

I rip the gown off and throw my shirt over my head.

“Here, take these,” the doctor says as he’s removing his socks and shoes.

I slip the socks on and then the shoes that are a little too big, but they will protect my feet. Then he opens the door wide and stands in the hall. He waves me out when the coast is clear. I see the other guard leaning against the SUV, talking on the phone. I take off in a sprint heading down the road.

He sees me, and I hear the car door open. I pick up my pace, and as I turn into one of the alleys, something pierces me in the ass. I don’t slow down to look as I try to climb the fence between the buildings. I reach up with my arms, but my legs don’t follow. I look behind me, and there is a dart sticking out of my left butt cheek. I yank it out and try to climb again, but instead, I hit the pavement beneath me.