Wet Part 3

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  Paul had been about to lose it until Rhees finally broke through the trees with Claire. She gave him a quick, reassuring grin that wasn’t really a grin, but it was enough to let him know she was all right. Creepy didn’t hide his dissatisfaction or his anger when he appeared back at the clearing, right behind them.

  The hijackers began ushering the men, just like they had the women, into the jungle, two at a time. With that business finished, the prisoners were given granola bars and four bottles of water to share. Rhees refused to take a drink and Paul shook his head. This was survival. These men were probably going to do more harm than any germ ever could, and he needed her as strong as possible in case things turned ugly. He wished she would just take a damn drink.

  oOo

  The hijackers ordered everyone to sleep. Dopehead stood guard over the men, Sleazy over the women, and the remaining three hijackers set up hammocks in the trees, away from the clearing, to get some sleep of their own. Paul and Rhees positioned themselves where they could watch each other by the glow of the small fire, their faces revealing the emotions that plagued each of their minds.

  It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Paul couldn’t help but think about how they were supposed to be back in the city, in the honeymoon suite of their hotel. They should be lying, facing each other, like now, but closer, in the glow of candles and wine, not a campfire. They were supposed to be lying on a bed of fresh rose pedals, not the decaying vegetation of the jungle floor, and they were supposed to be alone, not being kept apart by men holding guns, leaving them to question if they’ll ever have another day to make it the way it was supposed to be.

  “You are so beautiful,” he mouthed to her.

  “You too,” she mouthed back, and it made him grin. They blew each other kisses.

  He smiled. She was doing better than he thought she could. Tough as nails.

  Creepy had given up on sleep. There’d been something else on his mind all evening. When he rolled out of his hammock, Hateful gave him a challenging eye.

  “Not a good idea,” Hateful said.

  “Mind your own business,” he responded with a malevolent grin. Hateful backed down without further argument. The other men were all afraid of him, and he liked it that way.

  Creepy entered the clearing, giving the two guards the signal to remain quiet as he turned his attention to the girl in white, pointing to her, letting them know what he planned to do. They didn’t like it either, but they weren’t about to try and stop him.

  The pretty bride, Rhees, he’d heard them call her, happened to be engrossed in some silent, loving exchange with her poor excuse of a new husband. They didn’t even notice him moving in until it was too late. She felt small in his hands as he picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder in one fell swoop.

  Rhees didn’t realize what had happened until she hung upside down, and the big man turned to carry her into the jungle.

  “Come on little bride. Jus primae noctis. Time to make your wedding night dreams come true.”

  Rhees should have panicked. The thought of a man like Creepy touching her would normally send her into a fit of hysteria, but she didn’t care at the moment. She raised her head to see, knowing what he’d do—her only fear—she knew Paul would stop at nothing to keep her safe.

  “No! Paul,” she wailed. “They’ll kill you! Please, don’t.”

  It was too late. The golden tan color had already drained from his face, and filled in again with the color of rage. Paul sprang up and flew at Dopehead like an explosion, shattering the guard’s nose with his fist before ripping the floundering man’s gun from his hands in one fluid movement. Dopehead fell back and went down. Dobbs jumped on him to make sure he stayed out of commission.

  Paul raised the rifle now in his possession, aimed, and charged at Creepy, taking long, deliberate strides until he could get close enough to be sure he couldn’t miss and hit Rhees.

  Sleazy’s brain finally registered their condition, raised his rifle, and pointed it in Paul’s direction. Paul didn’t notice, too intent on ruining Creepy’s plans, but Rhees saw the gun pointed at her husband and gasped, too panicked to get a verbal warning out in time, but Paul took her cue. He turned and pulled the trigger without a second’s hesitation. Sleazy went down.

  By the time Paul’s attention drew back to Creepy, Rhees felt the big man twist around to see what was happening. The two men faced off, Creepy seemed dazed at how fast things had turned, and then became unhinged, fumbling for his rifle, the one he’d left in his hammock. He started grappling for his only other weapon, the pistol holstered in a sling at his side, but he couldn’t get to it because of the way he had Rhees and all the drapes of her dress slung over his shoulder.

  Paul drew closer, still not daring to shoot. Creepy’s stance made it impossible to get a clean shot.

  Hateful and Sappy burst into the clearing from their hammocks to see why a gun had been fired. Paul saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned on them. He pulled the trigger again, but they had a split-second advantage. Sappy fell first—then Paul. Rhees screamed at the sight of her beloved going down.

  Hateful advanced on Paul, who’d dropped his rifle when the bullet hit. Paul scrambled to reclaim the weapon, but it’d flown too far out of his reach, on the same side as his wounded shoulder—his left arm was useless. He tried to roll, but too quickly, Hateful was there, standing over him.

  Rhees screamed again, begging the man to spare Paul’s life, but the butt of Hateful’s rifle made contact with the side of Paul’s face. Hateful turned his gun, and pointed the barrel at Paul’s head, and all the other prisoners gasped or screamed, knowing he was about to shoot another prisoner. The hijacker dropped to the ground instead. Dead.

  Rhees held still, poised, twisted sideways over Creepy’s shoulder, arching her back, holding Creepy’s Smith and Wesson M&P, aimed directly at the dead man.

  Paul glanced back at his bride, his eyes wide and wild at what she’d just done. She shot the man again, making Paul jump at another unexpected crack of the gun, but she needed to be sure—there was no way she was going to stand by and watch her Paul get shot again, not when there was a loaded pistol within her reach, very similar to the one her dad had owned and showed her how to use when they drove to a popular shooting site on the west side of Utah Lake, at least twice a year, to enjoy an afternoon of target practice.

  Paul watched helplessly as Creepy, recognizing his predicament, took advantage of everyone’s stupor. He threw Rhees down, tried to wrestle the gun from her hand, but she put up a fight— he won. He turned, and Paul found himself looking down the barrel of yet another gun.

  He could see Rhees floundering in her dress, desperately trying to get to her feet, and he knew she’d do whatever she could to keep Creepy from taking the shot. But Paul knew it was over. He couldn’t help but feel the irony. After all the years he’d spent, carelessly pushing the limits of mortality, he was going to die now when he finally wanted to live more than anything.

  People say their lives flash before their eyes, but all he saw was the future he’d never have. He should have known it was too good to be true. Rhees had never been meant for him, and God was finally taking matters in his own hands, setting things aright. He was tired of waiting for Paul to do the right thing.

  The air resonated with another heavy crack of a gun.

  Blood, bone, and grey matter splattered across Rhees’ face and down her white dress. She stood in shock, her stance—the look on her face was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. And then Creepy’s body fell into her, knocking her over and landing on top of her.

  Frank Cannon moved closer with Sappy’s rifle still pointed at Creepy’s body before he turned and pointed it at Dopehead who’d just started to stir after Dobbs’ exhaustive beating. The other hostages finally breathed—after holding their br
eath the twenty or thirty seconds the whole scene had taken.

  Paul tried to crawl to Rhees on his knees and his one good arm, in shock that he didn’t die. The blood loss might have had something to do with it too. He, Claire, and Dobbs made it to Rhees at the same time.

  “Get him off me!” Rhees screamed. Paul tried to push the body away but he cried out in pain. Dobbs had no trouble rolling Creepy away even though the man matched Dobbs’ size.

  Paul fell back to a sitting position on the ground, exhausted and injured, but he motioned for Rhees to crawl onto his lap. She didn’t hesitate, making herself comfortable by cuddling herself into his chest. He held her, stroking her with his good arm, doing his best to keep it together, grateful he’d somehow won more time with her.

  Claire ignored his attempts to brush her away as she checked his shoulder over and applied pressure to control the bleeding.

  “Aw, Dani Girl, you never fail to amaze me,” Paul huffed to Rhees when his throat finally relaxed enough to stop denying his lungs access to the air he’d been trying to draw in. He held her tight with his good arm, rocking her back and forth. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

  “Utah.” She leaned her head against his chest, on the opposite side of his wounded shoulder.

  “Yeah? Huh,” he huffed again, still shaky and straining to breathe.

  “After Perry left,” she said quietly, as if on autopilot. “My dad decided a girl made a better target practice partner than no one.” She buried her face into his neck, grabbing desperately at his shirt with her hands, trying to pull herself even closer. “I was always a good shot, but I never once thought I’d aim at another human, let alone pull the trigger.” She let out a sob.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said in a shaky voice. “I’d give anything—anything! I hate that you had to—” He looked up to heaven and prayed, sure that since he’d made it through, God had decided he could hurt him deeper by going through the one person he loved the most. “Oh, God, no.”

  “No.” Rhees pulled back to look him in the eye, shaking her head vehemently. She held her head up with confidence and conviction. “He was going to kill you. I won’t waste one second regretting pulling the trigger—ever! I never imagined having to do that, but I’d do it again and again—every single time, not even a second of hesitation.”

  Chapter 6

  Paul, Claire, and Dobbs assumed they understood the thoughts going through Rhees’ mind—the same thoughts they were all experiencing, shaken but relieved to have survived. All the way back to the road, the ride back to the city, to the police station, all the survivors laughed a little, some cried, parents hugged their children, they all hugged each other, but mostly they all pondered quietly, reminded of how fragile life could be.

  They had no idea the real reason for Rhees’ silence. She’d become so good at hiding the guilt, but she’d been reminded of what she’d done, sure she was still being punished—and would forever be. She’d disobeyed. She was and always would be a dirty girl.

  oOo

  Paul grimaced and gave the paramedic a dirty look when he applied antiseptic to his upper arm.

  “You just poured alcohol into a fresh, half-inch deep wound,” he growled in English, through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you just cauterize it with a hot poker? That’s how they teach you to do it here, isn’t it, or maybe leeches, I’m surprised you didn’t just put leeches on it.” Paul was in pain, hungry, tired, and anxious to get out of the police station, and on to the hotel—his wedding night—or wedding morning, but the police insisted on interviewing each and every victim.

  “Dobbs and I are finished with our interviews, and were thinking about getting out of here, unless you think you might need us, later, ya know, to supervise . . . or critique.” Claire smiled slyly, and bounced her eyebrows up and down.

  She flicked her head toward the corner of the room where Rhees had curled up on a bench, covered herself with Paul’s jacket, and looked to be asleep.

  The news of the hijacking had set the whole station in a state of flurry. The room they were in was large, and filled with empty desks as all the officers busied themselves with the task of investigating the details of what had happened.

  “You did get the wedding night speech from a fatherly figure, right? If not, Dobbs can tell you where you’re supposed to put it.”

  “Claire, stop being so rude,” Dobbs’ bald head was almost purple with the blush his wife had caused.

  Paul looked over at Rhees and couldn’t help his grin. “Naw. I think I’ve got this covered.”

  “I guess we’ll see you in three weeks. Don’t worry about a thing. Today we’ll be late opening up, since we’re taking the ferry, but I promise we’ll—”

  “No,” Paul said, and reached with his good arm to pull out his wallet, but stopped with a frustrated sigh. “Sorry. I was going to give you money to take the plane, but my wallet—”

  He didn’t need to finish, the understanding came through in both of their eyes. Their hijacking experience was something that they’d all remember for a long time.

  “Write a message on the board when you get to the shop, let everyone know what happened, then go home and get some sleep—”

  “No.” Claire set her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look. “I mean, yes, I’ll let everyone know, but we’re not closing up today. We can do this.”

  “I know you can. I wouldn’t leave you in charge for three weeks if I didn’t know, without a doubt, that you’ll take care of everything.”

  Claire actually almost teared up. It took her a second to speak, and Paul didn’t understand why. He cursed his handicap with social cues.

  “Oh, um,” Paul said as an afterthought, “maybe you can ping Taye an email about it. He’ll pass the word to the others in the States. But be sure to convince him we’re okay—in fact, tell him that while I’m on my honeymoon—if I see his ugly mug, hear his grating voice, or find myself being forced to even think about him, because he’s contacted me in any way, he’s dead meat!”

  “Will do. Come on B, let’s get home. We have a shop to run.” Claire smiled and tucked her arm around her husband’s. “Have fun. We’ll see you when you get back.”

  Paul watched them walk out the door of the station, thinking back to his conversation with Rhees about Dobb’s real name.

  “So,” Frank slapped Paul on the back as he walked up, pulled up a chair from another desk, and sat down facing Paul.

  “From what you said earlier, I take it your dad won’t be leaving you his company when he retires.”

  Paul gave Frank a small grin and shrugged.

  “I remember when your dad, the SOB, tried to get his grimy hands on my company. I knew ‘im—didn’t like ‘im. I didn’t know you, but I’d heard rumors you were the man behind the man.”

  Paul looked down and shook his head. He didn’t like the description.

  “You scared the bejesus out of me, son.” Frank chuckled, but Paul still didn’t look up.

  “I’m sorry,” Paul’s voice registered in a deeper than usual voice, barely above a whisper. “I was good at what I did.”

  “Good?” Frank laughed again. “I’m not sure how many sleepless nights you caused me, worrying that I was about to lose everything I’d worked for. But in the end, I’d learned a good lesson, and set myself up stronger, made myself impenetrable, so I should thank you.”

  The paramedic stood, gathered his supplies, and told Paul, in Spanish, that he was finished dressing the wound, but that he still recommended stitches. Paul shrugged, his preferred method of communication, considering the mood he was in.

  “No se preocupe,” Paul grumbled, and dismissed the man.

  “Look,” Frank continued when the paramedic walked off. “You have a good head on your shoulders, and I’ve unexpectedly found myself in
the market for a new successor. How about you come work for me? You’d just have to promise me you’ll run it, not tear it apart for scrap, but I’d be proud to have someone like you take over when I’m gone.”

  Paul choked at the unexpected offer.

  “Sorry,” he held up his hands, “I’ve had my fill of that life.”

  Frank looked shocked that Paul would pass up his proposition.

  “I know that you know what my company was worth back then. I’ve since, damn near tripled that.”

  Paul made an attempt to laugh, but he couldn’t get out any sound.

  “Money means nothing anymore. The only thing that matters to me is that woman over there.” He pointed to a still sleeping Rhees.

  “It’s good to learn how to weigh your priorities.” Frank stood, and held out his hand to Paul. Paul took it and they shook, both nodding their mutual respect.

  “Take care of you and yours, and for the record,” Frank said as an afterthought, “I have no plans to give up control until they certify me senile, or I can no longer hang on by the skin of my teeth, but if you ever change your mind—”

  “Don’t waste any time waiting by the phone,” Paul grinned.

  oOo

  “All right Mr. Weaver. I think we’re done. Your story matches the other passengers’.” Even though Paul spoke fluent Spanish, most of the other passengers didn’t, so Sergeant Ortiz had conducted the interview in English. Paul was the last of the hostages to be questioned because of the time it took to attend to his wounds. The side of his face would be a pretty shade of purple for a while, and the gunshot-torn flesh of his shoulder meant his arm would be nestled in a sling for at least the better part of his honeymoon.

  “I can’t condone your actions. You could have gotten yourself and everyone else killed.”