My father’s voice infiltrates my mind.
Nina, my little planner.
Nina, my stubborn bull.
Nina, listen to me…
I squeeze my eyes closed as the harrowing memory turns my blood to ice. Immediately, I think of Garrett, my on-again, off-again boyfriend. Or rather, my manfriend. He always hated the term boyfriend. Garrett will send a search team. He’s a manager at the St. Regis, and a disappearing employee won’t be very good publicity for the hotel. Rachel will help him. She’ll send them to the beach. They’ll find my shoes.
She struggled, they’ll say. She fought.
And then?
Will they know I’m no longer on the main island? Will they find this boat, this man… me? Did he leave a trail, footprints, anything to lead them to me? Or was he methodical and calculating about covering up his mess?
I open my eyes and study the man before me. My eyes have adjusted fully, so I can see the outline of his features. He has a weathered roughness, an almost feral look to him. His fiery hair is messy, as is his bushy beard. Smaller eyes, a larger forehead, and a Roman nose make up the rest of his facial landscape. He’s wearing a dark t-shirt, jeans rolled up to the ankles, and sturdy, leather boots. He must’ve washed my vomit off as they’re both spotless.
Freak.
I study his shirt, a logo emerging on his chest. A star. I’ve seen that star before. My father had the same exact logo on one of his jackets.
I gasp. “You’re in the army?”
He doesn’t answer me. He’s busy rowing us somewhere. He might not want to tell me, but he must know where we’re going. The way we’re gliding through the water is intentional—quickly and quietly. He’s racing the sun so that we’re not seen. His movements are effortless. I watch his face as his eyes slowly meet mine for the first time.
“I was in the army.”
I stifle a laugh. “Let me guess…” I trail off. He looks away and continues to row as his body stiffens. “Dishonorably discharged for murder?”
I whisper the words, and they seem to evoke something in him because he clenches his jaw and begins to row faster. His whole demeanor turns severe.
“I don’t owe you my sob story. Shut the fuck up and stop asking questions,” he barks.
His words get lost in the wind. There’s nothing to form an echo. Nothing to bounce the sound off. I wonder where we’re headed. I wonder if he knows about the guarded perimeters. He won’t get far if he doesn’t have a plan.
My stomach growls. Now empty from vomiting, it clenches uncomfortably. I’m suddenly aware of the aches and pains forming all over my body. My mouth is dry from screaming. My throat is raw. My neck feels stiff from where he tried to choke me. The back of my head throbs uncomfortably. I wonder momentarily if I have a concussion. And then I wonder if dying of a bleeding brain would be worse than dying at the hands of this psycho.
A few minutes later, I manage to sit up on my knees and look out onto the ocean. If I can see San Juan, I might be able to jump and swim back to shore. There are so many little islands surrounding the main island. I could swim quickly and find someone to help me.
Slowly, I scan the horizon. All I see is blackness. No lights, except for one small one in the distance. It looks like a lighthouse. No San Juan. No clusters of lights indicating a large city. Where the fuck is he taking me?
“What’s your name?” I ask quietly. If he’s going to make me tag along wherever he goes, I at least want to know I’m dealing with a human being. Someone with a name.
He stops rowing, pulling the oars in and dropping them loudly beside my legs. He scoots closer to me, and the sudden aggressiveness paralyzes me with fear.
“Maybe I’ve been too nice thus far,” he growls, his hands reaching into his pockets for what I presume is the handcuffs. Instead, he produces a bandana and wraps it around my head roughly, shoving it into my mouth. I gag and cry out as he handcuffs me to the leg of the solitary bench. When he’s finished, he leans in really close, so close that I can smell the musky scent of his beard. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m not telling you my name, ever, and I’m not telling you where we’re going, or anything about me. And I don’t want to know anything about you. Nod if you understand,” he finishes, pulling away.
I nod once, slowly.
He quickly turns and faces away from me, grabbing the oars and gliding them into the water yet again. I bite the bandana, crushing my teeth against the cloth as if I’m biting him.
“Ffff ouuu,” I mumble as best as I can. He ignores me.
I want hurl him into the water and watch as the sharks devour his body. How dare he get mad at me for all of this? I was an innocent bystander. I was just trying to enjoy my goddamn sunset after a long, tedious day of work. It’s certainly not my fault that he decided to murder someone right in front of me. In fact, I’d say this whole thing is grossly unjust. Then again, I learned a long time ago that the universe is not always just. It doesn’t play favorites. You can do everything right and think good thoughts all day long until your head explodes… and things like this will always happen.
I’m not sure how, but exhaustion gives way and I end up falling asleep. As uncomfortable as I am, slouched against the wall of the boat with my hands cuffed to the leg of the bench, the lull of the boat sends me off into a dreamless sleep. I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but it’s definitely still dark when the hard thump jolts me awake.
“Rrr aaa www,” I yell, hoping he can understand me through the gag. Where are we? Directly above us is a lighthouse surrounded by what looks to be an old fortress. Relief washes over me. Someone will see us. Someone will save me.
“Before you go getting your hopes up, this is an uninhabited island. It is a national reserve island, and cannot be accessed unless by private boat. We are at least ten miles away from the nearest inhabited island. The waters are shark-infested, so don’t go getting any ideas about escaping.”
All of my relief vanishes, replaced with heavy, metallic dread. He jumps out and pulls the boat onto the shore. To my surprise, he walks over and unties the bandana from my mouth. A moment of hesitation passes over his face—just a fraction of a second, but I see it.
“Can I trust you?” he asks, eyeing the handcuffs.
I lick my lips. They’re so dry. I could really use a gallon of water right about now.
“Yes.”
He clicks the handcuffs off and grabs my arm, pulling me up. His face comes down, close to mine.
“If you fucking try anything—and I mean anything—I will shoot your brains out. Do you understand?” He grabs my hand and moves it to his back, where I feel the bulkiness of a gun handle. To anyone watching, it would look like we’re in a tight embrace. I can feel the hardness of his chest against mine, and I bare my teeth as he pushes me away. “Out.”
I stumble and grab the side of the boat. Slowly, I step out into the shallow water, one foot at a time. When I’m submerged up to my ankles, the bottoms of my work slacks heavy from the water, he gestures for me to walk to shore as he drags the boat up the sand. I can’t really see anything—it’s too dark—but I stay locked in place, shivering, as he pulls the boat to a spot behind what looks like a large boulder, about twenty feet away.
While he’s distracted, I eye the island. From what I can see, it’s fairly small, though I’ll have to assess it tomorrow when the sun is out. I’m standing at the bottom of an old fortress, the shadow of the building blacker than the sky. Atop the fortress is a lighthouse, a beam of light circling slowly. I follow the flash of light several times, and each time, all I see out there is black. The only thing I hear is the lapping sound of waves, and the only thing I feel is the gritty, wet sand between my toes.
I wrap my arms around my chest. I’m shaking vigorously—from the frigid air and wet feet, or from fear—I’m not sure. Everything starts to become so much more real as I watch the man cover the boat with palm fronds. Unease and terror slide into my mind, one sinking heartbeat at a
time. I lick my lips and ready myself to fight, balling my fists at my sides.
I have no idea what’s in store for me. He said he wasn’t going to kill me, but I don’t trust him. He already tried to murder me once. He might try again.
He smacks his hands together and brushes them off on his jeans. Then he begins to walk back toward me.
I stand up tall. Though he might not kill me, he’s probably capable of some awful things. Rape, torture, mutilation… to name a few. I expect him to grab me and drag me somewhere dark. I expect him to have his way with me, or perhaps hurt me for fun. I wouldn’t put it past him.
But instead, he brushes past me and doesn’t say a word as he makes his way up the stone steps to the deserted fortress. I look around, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I could grab the boat and row away, but I know from experience that rowing a boat is much harder than it seems. And he was right. I won’t be swimming away any time soon.
I follow him up the stairs. To my surprise, he continues walking all the way up to the lighthouse. I finally reach the top, completely out of breath. He opens the door to the lighthouse—the beaming light allowing me to scan my surroundings.
It’s a small lighthouse—winding, wooden stairs that look to be a million years old against the opposite wall. A couple of timeworn, wooden doors to my left and right, and another room at the top of the stairs. It smells a bit like rotten fish, and the air is so humid, I feel like I could swim to the other side of the room. But there’s light. Not a lot, but enough to see fairly well.
“Up,” the man commands, turning to face me with hands on his hips.
I take in his appearance fully, now that I have the chance. Dark, copper hair sits atop his head with a matching beard. A strong nose fills out his face. He has pale, turquoise eyes. He’s frowning at me, and his forehead creases are prominent. He has ruddy cheeks, and I’m not sure if it’s from walking up twelve flights of stairs, or if it’s his natural coloring. Poor ginger. He’s tall and strong, muscles molding the shirt he’s wearing. He’s more than capable of harming me.
I turn and walk up the winding stairs without another word. He follows. When I reach the top, I open the door and I feel him push me inside. I stumble forward, falling onto my hands and knees. Quickly, I turn around, fully expecting the worst. Instead, I’m met with a closing door.
“Wait!” I cry out. He halts, sticking his head in the crack of the door.
“What?” he asks, irritably.
I blush. “I have to pee.” He narrows his eyes, assessing whether or not I’m being truthful. I stand clumsily and do a little dance, just for kicks. “Please? I have the world’s smallest bladder.”
His eyes flick to mine. Even in the darkness, I can see the disdain dripping from his face. I’ve become a fly on the wall that he so desperately wants to squash. I am a complication—a snag in his plan. I wonder if he was coming to this island all along, or if it was something he thought of after I became a witness to his crime.
“Fine,” he sighs, opening the door wider and gesturing for me to follow him back down the stairs. I grip the railing steadily. The spiral stairs are giving me vertigo. Once at the bottom, he points to a small door. “You have thirty seconds, after which, I am coming in.”
I laugh. “I’ve been holding my pee in for hours now, thanks to you. I will take however long I need,” I answer defiantly.
A rush of anger passes across his face, and he quickly slams me against the wall and places one arm beside me and one on my neck, threateningly, blocking me in.
“I am the boss here,” he hisses, pushing me harder against the stone. I whimper from the pain, knowing full well that I’m going to bruise. “Don’t you fucking talk back to me. I said I couldn’t kill you then—nothing is stopping me now.”
I squirm against his hand, struggling to breathe. Just as I start to see spots, he releases me. I fall to my knees and my hands instinctively go to protect my neck. I glare at him as I quickly scurry into the bathroom. To my horror, he follows me.
“Um, no,” I say, eyeing him. “You can’t be here. Get out.”
“You must not really have to go,” he says, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms tightly. “Either that, or…” he trails off, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “You have to poo.”
My jaw drops. “I don’t. I just want some privacy.”
I hate the fact that he can make light of this situation. I hate myself even more for wanting to smile at his last remark. Not only that, but the absence of that raw, primal fear is now gone. Ever since he released me on the sand when he could’ve choked me, the gut-wrenching terror has subsided. Yeah, this isn’t an ideal situation, and yes, he could very well still kill me. But something tells me he won’t. He might be a deplorable human being, but I don’t think he’d murder me.
Maybe I’ve been playing this game wrong all along. Maybe I need to make friends—soften him to me. Make him laugh, smile… make him want to let me go. Because where else can we go now? They’ll have a search party out for me in an hour. We can’t leave. It’s in his best interest to let me go. The only way he’ll let me go is if I make him want to let me go.
“Your days of privacy are over,” he says, his face cold. Ok, so maybe this will be harder than I thought.
“Fine. I’ll pee in front of you.”
“There’s a stall,” he adds, for consolation.
Plumbing on a deserted island? What is this place?
I roll my eyes as I walk into the stall and drop my pants. It takes twenty seconds to get the ball rolling out of shyness. I’ve never peed in front of anyone before. Well, in public I have, but that’s different. There are no men waiting to slit your throat if you make the wrong noise or talk back.
After I’m finished, I flush and stand. Working plumbing, at that. I notice a small plaque on the wall above the dated sink as I wash my hands. Isla Culebrita.
I splash some water on my face, scrubbing the sand and grime off. I need a shower. My feet are sandy and almost black from the layers of dust in this place. I’m sure I’ve sweat through my deodorant from this morning, and though there’s no mirror, I’m sure my hair is a frizzy, greasy mess from the ocean air.
“What’s Isla Culebrita?” I ask as he pushes me back up the stairs. I refrain from saying anything about his tactic—I’m afraid to awaken the angry beast again. Though I do want to make a sarcastic comment about being herded like cattle.
“Don’t ask questions,” he growls, throwing me into the room much like last time. He slams the door and I wince, hearing the scraping sound of a lock.
I look around. The room is small and circular, built of old, grey stone like the rest of the building and the lighthouse. The beam rotates directly above me, illuminating the room nicely. There’s a thin blanket crumpled on the floor, but it looks disgusting and I’m not desperate enough to use it. Other than that… it’s completely empty. I swallow thickly. I need water. My throat is scratchy and my neck and knees are throbbing.
I feel like Rapunzel, or perhaps Quasimodo trapped in this tower. Except unlike Rapunzel, no one is going to save me. And unlike Quasimodo, I will not find refuge and solace from my captor.
T H R E E
Nina—Present
Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico
I DON’T THINK I sleep at all the entire night. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here, or what time it is. Eventually, pink light starts to creep in through the narrow windows. There are six in total, equally spaced along the centrifugal room. Last night I tried to pull myself up to one of them, but they’re too tall to hoist myself. My fingers barely reached the bottoms of the windowsills. Even if I could pull myself up, they’re only about eight inches wide, and I doubt I could get my breasts through, let alone the rest of me. The curse of a DD chest.
A knock on my door startles me. I quickly hop up, my legs and ass tingly from sitting cross-legged for so long. I slide against the wall, as far away as possible as he opens the door.
The t
hing is, I’ve had… hours… to think. How many hours, I’m not sure. In my mind, I tried to work out what happened last night. I’m practical. Logical. I consider myself a smart woman. And yet… here I am. I didn’t do anything wrong. This man… this monster… he’s the one who did something wrong. Twice! Once by murdering another person, and once by kidnapping me. The more I think about it, the more I know this won’t end well. It can’t end well.
There are four scenarios. One, I escape somehow. That would require me to figure out how to get the fuck off this island. I hate to admit it, but I need his help, his prowess, to leave. Two, he lets me go. This is highly unlikely. I’ve ruled it out, because there’s nothing in it for him. He’ll never let me go. Three, he kills me. And, well, that would suck. Four, someone rescues me. Even if that were to happen, he would kill me before they got to me.
So right now, I’m a little afraid of him. He’s the catalyst to my demise.
“Here,” he mumbles, walking over to me with a tray of food.
The smell is intoxicatingly wonderful. It assaults my senses in every way possible. My mouth watering, I reach out and take it, sitting down and digging in without a care in the world. He retreats back and closes the door, locking it behind him again.
I love food. Today, I would marry food. I bite off a large chuck of the sourdough bread roll. There’s some sort of vegetable soup, so I take a sip with the plastic spoon he’s provided.
I moan. I actually moan.
In actuality, I haven’t gone that long without eating. But for whatever reason, I am enjoying this much more than I should be. I guess small comforts mean a whole hell of a lot in a place like this.
After I finish the soup, I slowly eat the rest of the bread and gulp the large bottle of water. That’s it. That’s probably all the food I’ll get today, and I just ate it all in about thirty seconds. Sighing, I set the tray down and lie down, my lids becoming heavy.
That Which Binds Us Page 3