by R. R. Banks
I'm meeting Caleb for dinner tonight and I find that I'm actually looking forward to it. There seems to be such an easy air between us. I never thought it possible, but I feel so comfortable around him again. It's like two pieces of a puzzle snapping back together again and I don't want to rush things or read to much into anything just yet, but it feels – right. And I know he feels the same way too.
I walk around the parking lot behind the building that houses my office, pulling my keys out of my bag, and press the button to unlock the door.
“Hello, Abby.”
James' voice stops me in my tracks, sending a lightning bolt of fear shooting through me. I turn around to face him and he's standing just five feet from me, a strange little smile upon his lips.
“What are you doing here, James?”
“I came to see you,” he says calmly. “To talk to you.”
“I thought I was pretty clear that we have nothing left to talk about.”
“Oh, see, but I think we do.”
He takes a step forward and I take one step back. But I bump into my car and realize I have nowhere else to go. I look around quickly, hoping there's somebody around who can help me. But I'm alone – with him.
The look on his face is disturbing and sends a chill through me. There's something in his eyes that sets my nerves on edge. That scares me.
“Fine,” I say evenly. “What is it you want talk about then, James?”
“First of all, I want to talk about us,” he says. “About getting back together.”
I shake my head. “That's not going to happen, James,” I say. “I was very clear about that.”
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is this because of him? Because of Caleb?”
“It has nothing to do with Caleb.”
That's not entirely true. The night I broke up with James, starting anything with Caleb again had been the furthest thing from my mind. I was awash in emotions that night, but there were absolutely zero romantic feelings for Caleb. Things had changed since then, obviously.
But that's not the point.
The point is that if Caleb had anything to do with my breaking up with James, it was only in that I was so overcome with emotion that I finally hit my breaking point. It made me realize a lot of things – things that honestly, were a long time coming. I needed to take control of my life, my sanity, and my happiness back – and that's exactly what I did.
Not that James was going to understand that.
“No?” he asks. “If it has nothing to do with Caleb, why did you fuck him the other night?”
His question made my breath catch in my throat and my blood run cold. How in the hell could he have possibly known that I slept with Caleb? Unless –
“You're stalking me,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“I'm looking out for your best interests,” he corrects me, his voice full of emotion. “I happened to see you come home with him. I peeked in your windows to make sure you were okay and saw you screwing him, Abby.”
“You've got to be kidding me.”
That he could rationalize stalking me that way is more than just creepy. It's terrifying. And it shows me that James is dangerous. I don't know what's going through his mind, but I know that if he's stalking me, it can't be good. I need to get out of there. Get away from him.
“Look, James,” I say, doing my best to keep the nervous flutter out of my voice. “It's been a long day and I want to go home and get some rest. Let's get together later in the week to talk about everything. I'm open to hearing –”
“I'm afraid it's too late for that, Abby,” he says. “That bus has already left the station.”
“What are you talking about, James?”
His cheeks flare with color and he looks almost ashamed, but he pulls his hand out of the pocket of his windbreaker and he's holding a gun. The adrenaline pours through me, making my head almost buzz with its intensity. My heart is pounding in my chest like I'd just run a marathon and my eyes widen as I stare at it.
“What are you doing, James?” I ask, my voice cracking with fear. “Why are you holding a gun?”
“Because you're not thinking clearly, Abby,” he says. “And I need to protect you. Get you away from here. Away from him. Allow you to relax a little and get your head back on straight.”
“James, don't do this,” I say. “You don't want to do this.”
“I'm not doing anything,” he replies, his voice smooth and calm. “I only want to keep you safe. Protect you. Even if I'm only protecting you from yourself.”
I shake my head. “I don't need to be protected, James,” I say. “I just need you to put the gun down.”
He looks at me and I can see the resolve in his face. He's committed to this course of action and there's nothing I can say or do that's going to change his mind. The only thing I can do is call for help. Or run. Either of which very well could earn me a bullet.
“I don't want to do it this way, Abby. Believe me,” he says. “But we were happy. And then all of the sudden, this guy shows up and we're not? It's obvious to me that you're not yourself. That you're not thinking or feeling clearly. As a trained therapist, you should know yourself well enough to know that.”
“James, I –”
He waves the gun in my direction without pointing it at me. “We have to go now, Abby,” he says. “Get into the car. Please.”
“This doesn't have –”
“The car, Abby,” he says. “Get into your car now. You're driving.”
I look around frantically, looking for somebody, anybody who can help me.
“Abby,” he says, finally raising his gun, but keeping it pointed low. “Please don't make me ask again. Please get into the car.”
With no other options available to me, I reluctantly open the door and get behind the wheel. James comes around quickly and gets into the passenger seat. He keeps the gun in his hand, but it's pointed away from me.
“W – where are we going, James?”
“I want you to drive down to the marina,” he says. “We're going for a little pleasure cruise.”
“Where are you taking me, James?”
“To my cabin,” he replies. “It's quiet. It'll give you a good space to think. To clear your head.”
“Please, I –”
“Start the car and drive, Abby,” he says, his voice suddenly ice cold. “I don't want to hurt you. I've never wanted to hurt you. But you need to do what I say now, so I don't have to.”
The tone of his voice tells me that he's serious. That something inside of him has snapped and he's gone off the deep end. And I know that if I don't do what he says, he's going to kill me. Maybe he's going to anyway, I don't know.
All I do know is that as long as I do what he says and play along with him, I'll stay alive. And if I'm alive, there's hope for escape. For rescue. For something. I know that it's not going to be long for people to realize I'm missing, and once they do, they'll be out looking for me.
I just need to stay alive until they find me.
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.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I check my watch again for what feels like the ten thousandth time in the last ten minutes. But I'm nervous. Fidgety. It's not like Abby to be late. That's something she's always been a stickler about – punctuality. But as I look at my watch again, I see that she's twenty minutes late.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I check – again – and find no missed calls, no voicemails, and no text messages.
“Can I get you another beer?”
I look up into the smiling face of the waitress. She's been flirting with me ever since I walked through the door, but I'm actually not interested. If she'd flirted with me a week ago, I can guarantee I'd have her out in the car, banging her brains out right now.
But things unexpectedly changed. Very unexpectedly.
“Yeah, if you wouldn't mind,” I say. “That'd be great.”
“Comin' right up.”
She walks away, putting an extra swish in her hips for my benefit. I admire her ass as she walks away, but then catch myself doing it and put a stop to it. I shake my head and scratch my beard.
“What in the hell is going on with me?” I mutter to myself.
Things with Abby have taken a turn I never saw coming. We've spent a lot of time together over the last few days and have reconnected – something I never thought would happen. Not in a million years. I never intended for any of this to happen. My only intent was to get into town, say goodbye to Rick, and get the hell out again.
Obviously, nothing has gone the way I intended.
It's not necessarily a bad thing though. I have to say that being able to open up to Abby, to answer all of those questions that have been troubling her for so long and maybe, help give her a little sense of peace is a good thing. I know it's helped her work through some of her long-standing issues. And strangely enough, it's even helped me work through some of mine.
I honestly feel closer to Abby now than I did even way back when. I feel like there's something deeper at work between us. I'm not sure if she feels that way or not – we've not had a conversation even remotely close to addressing that – but it's how I feel.